Postcode Envy
by BeWitchingRedhead36
Summary: Mac is badly injured and as she fights to live, she finds herself back in time living life as Madison Sinclair. Would her life truly be better as Madison than Mac? Very much AU/magical realism, similar set up to "Peggy Sue Got Married," an old 80's movie. VM version. Mac, Dick, Madison, Logan and Veronica. Eventual MaDi...Timeline skips around from 2009 to back to HS. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: _Mac is injured watching her brother play baseball, and when she wakes up she finds that she's living the life she was always "meant to have" as Madison Sinclair. Some chapters (most chapters) will be from Mac's point of view, and the timeline will skip around a bit as she goes back to high school as Madison. The first chapter is "present time," present being 2009, on the third anniversary of Cassidy's suicide. Dick's POV will cover the present time, detailing what is going on with Mac's injuries, dealing with LoVe reuniting drama, learning more about Mac's life, etc. This is very much AU. The first few chapters are a little angsty as the story sets up, the back in time scenes will be lighter, more fun. I really had fun coming up with this idea, hope it makes sense. Oh, the title comes from a line in Lorde's Royal, definitely NOT a songfic though. Thank you to my wonderful beta, cainc3! Reviews are also appreciated! This chapter does skip around a little bit timewise, I used tags though, so I hope it makes sense. _**

**_Obligatory Disclaimer: Nope, still just playing around in this world. Don't own a THING! _**

**Postcode Envy**

**_Chapter 1—Diamonds_**

**_June 6_****_th_****_, 2009_**

Mac looked up briefly then once again buried her nose in her Kindle. However, the story really wasn't interesting her today. She sighed deeply and set it down beside her. It was too frakking hot to read, or well, breathe. A sticky-ass June day and she was at Settler's Park only a few rows behind third base watching her baby brother, Ryan, play baseball. The teams were comprised of a bunch of neighborhood kids, solidly '02'ers in nature, probably nurture too, with their scrappiness and cursing inability to tolerate losing.

Ryan's stance seemed to be improving, far as Mac could tell with her limited baseball expertise. He shuffled a little, opening his legs, adjusting his grip on the aluminum bat.

While Ryan was a gifted athlete, Mac completely lacked coordination. Walking seemed to take her full concentration, so forget about texting while walking, that was a recipe for injury right there. That was the perfect lead in to a philosophical thought session on the mystery of genes, but she knew the true reason Ryan had coordination and she did not-he was the blood related offspring of the athletically inclined Mackenzies, she was biologically a Sinclair, library-dwellers to the extreme.

The secret of her birth was one she'd discovered four years ago, and she kept waiting for it to get easier. The thought was slowly creeping up on her that it would never get easier. It was the same basic concept as when she realized her first boyfriend was a rapist and mass murderer, it was just a wound that never fully quit hurting, she'd learned to tuck it away in a secret room of her soul-a panic room—and only bring it out for examination on those tortuously rare occasions when she felt strong enough to not crack and break under the mass.

Mac looked up at the sound of Ryan's bat connecting with the ball.

Biological or not, he was her brother and she loved him. Her eyes followed as he took off toward the first base, the ball found the gap so he continued his journey. He was safely at second by the time the ball reached the infield. The next kid up at bat was Ryan's friend, a short, stocky kid with a shock of unruly, red hair named Zane. She'd known him practically his entire life.

The ball connected with Zane's swing of the bat and Ryan rounded third base then headed for home.

Mac clapped and whistled, his one person pep-squad team, which was irony in its very nature being that she was pretty sure she didn't have the peppy gene either. Was that a Mackenzie stronghold, too? What the hell did she get from Sinclair biology, genealogy, and any other applicable -ology?

Apathy, perhaps? Her tendency toward the gray shade of the law? Check and check! Her techno-whiz, hacker chops certainly had to come from a Sinclair branch. Okay, maybe Hallmark didn't write cutesy cards touting her particular traits, but at least she wasn't a pep squad clone, like her "other half" Madison.

She picked up the Kindle once again, hoping to jam the circuits of her brain to oblivion. It was an exercise in futility.

Mac was well-aware that the dumpster-diving her mood was taking stemmed more from the calendar than anything else, including alignment of the stars or the phase of the moon. It wasn't really the sticky ass heat, baking her innards, that was making her so maudlin.

Exactly three years ago today she was walking down the aisle at her graduation from Neptune High, accepting her diploma. Exactly thirteen hours later, she was huddled naked, under a shower curtain, in a room at the Neptune Grand.

_Happy Anniversary!_

Adding to Mac's convergence of bad moods was the unexpected detour she took on her way to the park.

**_************Earlier that same morning****************_**

She had spent the previous two anniversaries in bed, burrowed under her covers, pretending to be sick. It was a cover story, and her mom knew that, but she never minded playing along. The whole family played along, no one had forgotten those first few weeks after Cassidy jumped, after she'd been discovered by Veronica and Logan-huddled in their hotel room alone, naked, shivering, terrified.

Right after it had happened, she'd drown herself in her bed covers, only surfacing to eat the meals her mom force-fed her. She would have gladly spent the entire summer in that numb, catatonic state, except two weeks later her mom had forcefully dragged her out from her bed cocoon and deposited her on a shrink's couch.

This year, however, she was determined to not let Cassidy win. She'd reclaim this day.

That's how Mac ended up starting her day chatting with Dave who managed her favorite, non-big box computer store, the _Comp-U-Stop_ in downtown Neptune.. It was in a run-down storefront, most of the neighbors were boarded up, but they had low prices and she loved talking with the staff, a bunch of Microsoft groupies. She enjoyed hotly defending the merits of OS-X over the sheep follower, herd inducing Windows brands.

Mac had happened to glace out the window mid-argument about the slow, but steady rise in Apple usage when her thought train derailed. It was the flash of long, straight black hair on a girl walking by that severed her concentration. The girl in question had on short shorts, and a tight, red tee shirt, and appeared to be laughing at something her friend had said.

_That girl_ was Lauren Sinclair.

Tossing back a mumbly excuse over her shoulder, Mac left the computer store-her hideout, her comfort zone-and turned left, the direction Lauren had gone in. She saw the girls up about 100 yards ahead of her, walking fast and giggling loudly. They were heartbreakingly normal teenage girls.

Doing some mental calculations, Mac figured Lauren was fifteen, on the cusp of sixteen. She did frequent Google searches on her, and also kept alerts on her files at school. Until Madison's birthday party four years ago she hadn't even known she had a sister, now Lauren couldn't even order shoes online without Mac knowing about it. It would seem creepy, stalkerish even , if anyone else knew about her _e-sleuthing_, but to her it was a little way she could keep a protective eye on her sister—a stranger she felt more connected to than anyone else in her life.

Mac kept her distance, instinctively stopping as though she was window shopping the one time Lauren looked back to sneak a peek. Mac wasn't sure if she'd heard a specific noise or was just generally trying to be aware of her surroundings, but she was careful to tread quieter after that.

The girls stopped at the corner, looked around as though trying to get their bearings and ended up turning right. Mac stopped again, mentally counting to 50 to keep more distance, then continued on. She made it to the corner just in time to see Lauren and her friend opening a door before they were swallowed up and out of her viewing range.

Mac picked up her pace and stopped, hesitantly, in front of the door she'd just seen Lauren enter.

**_Java the Hut._**

Taking a deep breath, Mac casually strode into the place she spent a lot of time hanging out at when she was Lauren's age. In fact, she still came here a lot to get her soy chai latte fix. It felt like a connection to Lauren, that they went to the same stores and restaurants. _Maybe their paths crossed more than she realized?_ It was a stretch, Mac knew that, she was assigning way too much meaning to things, but she wouldn't have anything to cling to otherwise.

Getting in line behind Lauren's friend, Mac soon discovered the girl was named Brittany. She listened as the two of them talked and teased each other. Lauren liked the new lifeguard at the Neptune Country Club. He had black curly hair and his name was Kyle. They were planning on dropping by to see him later in the afternoon since Lauren was off work that day. Brittany responded to that by saying "To be qualified as an actual job, the position had to be paid." She noticed that they never mentioned the where or what of Lauren's volunteer "job."

Mac listened, hanging on every word her sister—her real biological sister—said, pretending Lauren was talking to her, telling her about this boy she had a crush on named Kyle with the tight black Speedos and six pack abs. She'd bitch about her job, and they'd plot revenge on gossipy coworkers as they sipped their matching soy chai lattes at the corner table. The two of them would catch up on each other's lives, like normal sisters did.

"I can help the next person in line. Miss, Miss." The skinny boy with glasses shouted from behind the counter, interrupting Mac's ruminations.

She noticed Lauren looking over at her from the other side of the long counter where she was waiting to get her drink. They exchanged a smile, but even though Mac searched hopefully for a sign of recognition she could tell Lauren didn't really remember their meeting four and a half years ago. Why would she?

"Venti Soy Chai Latte, please," Mac said to the impatient barista wannabe who was biting back a sigh and drumming the fingers of his right hand on the counter.

"Four ninety-five," he replied only stopping his finger tapping long enough to accept the proffered five dollar bill from Mac's outstretched hand.

"Keep the change, for your gracious service," Mac snarked. She blushed when she realized Lauren was laughing at the exchange. Stepping down to the other end of the counter to wait for her own drink she maneuvered herself next to Lauren, who gave her another smile.

"Carmel Mocha," announced the girl tasked with making the drinks. She placed the take-out cup on the counter and Brittany grabbed it before heading off to a table by the window.

"They have the best drinks here, so much better than those chains that are on every other street corner in every city," Lauren said, smiling. "What did you order?"

"Chai Latte with soy milk, what about you?"

"Chai Latte, with skim milk. Small world."

Small **_DNA_**, Mac thought but did not say. Instead she just made a joke about life in Southern California. It felt meaningful, that just like her little day dream, Lauren really did drink the same thing as her. They must have had some things in common, some deeper seeded philosophies on top of preferring spiced tea to coffee drinks.

She was blood connected to this stranger standing beside her, waiting for almost carbon copies of the same drink.

Lauren's skinny chai was ready and the shared moment was over all too soon for Mac's liking. She said good-bye, then took her tea and headed off to the table by the window to join her friend and finish talking about Kyle and plotting ways Brittany could sharpen her wingman…wingwoman…skills.

About a minute later the overly chipper barista called her name, interrupting her attempts at spying in on Lauren's latest plan to get to know Kyle in a hopefully more Biblical sense. Mac gave her coffee maker a half-smile and reluctantly accepted the drink. She briefly considered getting a table close to Lauren and continuing her _intel-gathering_ on the sister she did not know, however she quickly vetoed that instrument of self-mutilation.

Mac took a sip of the scalding drink as she snaked her way through the small coffee shop and out the door. Once she was back outside in the sunshine and heat, she stopped briefly by the window as though deciding which way to go, but really she was taking in one last, quick look at Lauren. She lowered her head as Lauren looked up just then, spotting her. Mac turned the other direction, retracing her steps to the car she'd parked-crookedly-a block and a half away.

She slipped into the driver's seat of her beloved Beetle, deciding to skip finishing her computer shopping, that purchase could wait for another day. Stowing the drink she hadn't really wanted, in the first place, in the cup holder, Mac twisted slightly so she could retrieve her cell phone from the over-sized pocket of her fading khaki cargo shorts.

One missed call.

Mac put it on speaker, and listened to the rambling voicemail of her mom prattling on about Ryan playing ball at Settler's Park and her plans to go shopping, as she put on her seat-belt and started the car. After hitting delete, she redialed her mom's number from where it was stored in the memory setting.

It rang and rang as Mac merged into the light mid-morning downtown Neptune traffic. She sighed and pushed the end button as her mom's own outgoing voicemail message started.

Well, she'd managed to dodge the shopping bullet for today at least, so she considered that a small victory.

Her mom had some type of mojo on her; no one else had the power to get her into one of those monuments of capitalistic greed and wanton consumerism (_AKA the Mall_). Today, of all frakking days, she needed-physically needed-the endless prattle of Natalie Mackenzie, whose chipper voice was a balm, Aloe Vera for her soul. However, her mom was most likely ensnared in a tiny cubicle like dressing room right now, getting talked into buying pretty pink dresses that would just end up being shoved in the back of the master closet that her dad kept adding space to. Between the closet additions and the extra shelf-space in her own childhood bedroom Mac had always thought, in an alternate reality, Sam Mackenzie would probably have made a damn good contractor; he was certainly gifted in the woodworking arts.

Sam and Natalie Mackenzie, two people she loved most in the world, but didn't truly belong to. She supposed that's what drew her to Cassidy, and vice versa. They shared that gnawing, biting belief that they were cast into familial roles that didn't really belong to them. It was a fucked up way to feel, and it proved to be an unstable connector upon which to build a relationship.

She was really celebrating dysfunction today. There must have been something in the air.

Remembering her mom's comment that Ryan was playing ball today at the nearby neighborhood park, Mac steered her car in the direction of Settler's Park, three blocks north of Colony Place, the street she grew up on. It was only 3.75 miles northeast of Shady Springs Court, where the Sinclairs had their palatial estate. Mac knew the route by sense memory, she knew the distance by heart—her car could probably drive there on auto pilot, she had gone by there so many times in the four years since Veronica discovered the truth about her birth.

Despite being less than four miles apart, Colony Place and Shady Springs Court were in different zip codes, the lower middle class '02'er and the upper echelon '09'er. They were worlds apart in only a few miles.

Mac parallel parked on the street in front of the park's entrance. Grabbing her black messenger bag from the passenger seat, she shut and locked the door and then walked down the steep hill to the vast field housing the baseball diamond.

On the way to the bleachers, she passed a tall Oak tree. She glanced up at it, admiring its fortitude. Randomly, she thought of Dick and his "thinking tree." He'd declined to mention its location, but said once in awhile he'd pack up his bag, fill up a water bottle with Vodka, and spend a day of solitude. The confession was made during one of the _rare_ periods she liked to call his "fifteen minutes of humanity."They would make an occasional appearance, more often when it was just the two of them. They would speak of Cassidy without ever mentioning him by name.

When she reached her destination, the bleachers behind home plate, she saw they were sparsely filled with spectators, giving her a lot of real estate to choose from. Mac sat down on the rough hewn bench in the fifth row behind third base. She was at the far end of the row, several feet past where the tall chain link safety fence ended. Getting hit by a ball was about the furthest thing from her mind, too many other topics were busy vying for attention. She unceremoniously set down her bag beside her and began riffling through it. She extricated her Kindle from its murky depths, and turned it on.

**_******back to the present time*********_**

She was only five paragraphs into the chapter she was reading of the _Westing Game_. It was a book she'd read roughly 107 times before, it was an old standby, usually she could get lost within that world, but today, well it just wasn't doing its frakking escapist job. She sighed deeply and set the eReader down on top of the bag. She just couldn't get her thoughts quieted down enough to read; even though it was a book she loved. Maybe it was that the book reminded her too much of Lauren and the relationship they did not have. _How the hell could you have a relationship with someone who wasn't even aware of your blood link?_ Their stilted small talk chatter at the coffee shop this morning underscored that point perfectly.

Mac was beginning to think that maybe the world would have been better off had she just stayed in bed that morning-or at least she would have been better off sleeping through this day, and probably every other June 6th until the end of time, too.

She had been staring down at her lap since reading hadn't proven to be the distraction she'd hoped it would be. Hearing someone yelling her brother's name, she glanced up to see her brother at bat for the second time today. On this turn he made contact with the bat on the first try. She tracked the trajectory of the ball until it was just a speck. Excitedly, Ryan ran, passing all the bases and heading home.

Mac smiled real big and gave a wolf's whistle. Pride caressed her words as she yelled out "Way to go Mackenzie!"

The ball was tossed back into play, but Ryan had by then claimed his home run. Mac kept her eyes on the action because Zane was next in the rotation. She always liked that little kid, though really he and Ryan were growing up before her eyes, they would be sophomores at Neptune High in September. They were no longer little kids.

Zane was quickly struck out. After calling out an encouraging "good try," Mac was about to go back to her broody ruminating when a flash of unruly light blonde hair caught her eye. She caught herself before she could shout out Dick Casablancas' name, thinking there would be no way he'd be caught in a '02'er stronghold outside of perhaps Dog Beach.

Just at that second he looked up, as though he could sense her thoughts and she had affirmation, it was definitely Logan Echolls' BFF.

Veronica—who had transferred to Stanford two years ago—had always called Logan Neptune High's Obligatory Psychotic Jackass, but truth be told there was a time, not that long ago, when Mac thought Dick fit that description pretty well himself. They'd grown closer though, during their sophomore and junior years at Hearst, although, honestly it was probably more likely that she learned how to ignore his stupid innuendos and focus more on the occasionally intelligent observations he made between the _That's What She Said_ comments and the boob jokes. She actually enjoyed hanging out with him when he was in the middle on one of his "fifteen minutes of humanity" periods. **_Friends_** might not be a good description of what they were, but they had started to hang out together more often. He would "let" her annihilate him in _Halo _and _Assassin's Creed. _

Their acquaintanceship—psuedo-friendship—had sprouted from their shared desire to pick up the pieces of shrapnel Veronica's departure from Hearst had left in Logan's life. Going on almost two years since Veronica stole away in the middle of the night—destination new college, new drama-free life—Logan was finally outwardly healed from his _Ronnie-ectomy_. Internally, however, Mac and Dick both had their doubts; they were certain there was still some bruising and bleeding just under the surface.

As painful as this day was for her, and it was certainly aching right now, Mac knew Dick was hurting way worse than she was. His smirk, which was coming more into focus as he walked closer to the bleachers, belied what she knew was a scabbed over wound that reopened and bled every June.

As Mac looked into his eyes, still too far away to see the blue that always reminded her of the Neptune sky, Dick's expression suddenly changed, erasing his trademarked smirk. He was waving his arms over his head like a referee and his panicked scream that sounded like her name just reached her ears when she saw a flash of white coming towards her then everything went dark.

**_TBC…_**


	2. Chapter 2--Thinking-Trees

**_A/N: Thank you so much for all the follows, favorites & reviews. Here's a chapter from Dick's POV. It starts a bit before the events at the end of chapter 1 and continues on from that point, for an outsiders view on things. Of course, he's got his stuff going on now, too. A BIG shout-out to my beta-cainc3! Enjoy! _**

**_Obligatory disclaimer-I don't own a thing in the whole wide VM 'verse-it's all Rob Thomas' domain. I like to play around in it though...So thanks for indulging me. _**

**_Chapter 2—Thinking-Trees_**

**_Dick's POV-June 6_****_th_****_, 2009_**

The summer Dick was twelve and Cassidy was eleven, his younger brother learned yet another way to take revenge on his tormentor. Where Dick was obvious with his torture, Cassidy tended toward the more subtle, more psychological acts to get back at Dick for real, and imagined, slights.

Roughly three, sometimes four times a week, Dick would wake up to a wet bed. The bedwetting episodes, as Big Dick called them, began to get concerning. His dad wanted to get him in front of the Casablancas family shrink, for documentation purposes more than any real parental concern; he wanted to use it as more fodder for his arsenal of complaints against Betina's mothering skills. He and his team of lawyers spun it for his own benefit—it was her indiscretions more than his that were scarring their progeny.

The episodes went on for almost a month, until one night Dick found himself wide awake after an unsettling dream about a little league game and menacing masked umpires. A glance at the clock revealed it was almost 3:30 AM. Suddenly the door to his bedroom creaked open.

He squinted his eyes shut and pretended to be fast asleep. He heard soft shuffles as the interloper tried to be soundless. He listened for the tell-tale creak of the loose floorboard by his bed. That sound never came, telling him whomever had sneaked into his room knew where to tread and where not to.

The intruder lifted his hand, and Dick instinctively let it flop as though he were truly deep in _REM_ sleep. He felt his hand being submerged in a small bucket of warm water. Dick responded by sitting up in one smooth motion, reaching his other hand out and dumping the bucket on his prankster.

"Surprise," he said his voice calm, though he was raging in the inside. He turned on the light to watch the warm water meant for him raining down on Cassidy, instead. "The game is up, Beav." He popped the _p_ in the word _up_.

Cassidy's eyes narrowed for an instant, his hatred of that nickname broadcast clearly on his face. No sign of remorse, only sizzling, poorly controlled anger at being caught. Then that brief glimpse of his usually tightly controlled outer emotions was over, replaced by his default smirk.

In exchange for not narcing on him to Big Dick, Cassidy agreed to be his _Cinderella_ for the rest of the summer, not that it was any different than things usually were. Dick always seemed to be the puppet master, from the outside looking in, at least. Cassidy's 'shows of dominance' were more behind the scenes, psychological, like the bed wetting "prank."

For some reason, that memory came back to haunt Dick as he drove to Settler's Park, which was located deep in '02 territory—a foreign country almost, which was what he was going for today. He'd always scrutinized his memory bank for little hints, clues to the mindset of his murderous baby brother. The only question was, _did he do it to get himself off the hook or put himself on the hook?_ It seemed to depend on the day…

That was a fitting memory jolt being that it was exactly three years, to the day, since Cassidy jumped off the roof of the _Neptune Grand Hotel_. This was shaping up to be one of those days he put himself back on the hook for the evil deeds his brother committed. He knew there was something _off_ about Cass—he had always known that, but it was something he could overlook, ignore, and make it go away, until that was no longer an option.

Cassidy was too smart for this world. Most days Dick thought perhaps he was lucky being the _dumb_ brother.

Dick knew Settler's Park was close to Mac's house, but he didn't think he'd see anyone he knew. Or rather, he really hoped he didn't see anyone he knew. He had to admit though, Mac would be more fitting company than anyone else he could think of. However, she had also self-diagnosed herself allergic to nature, so minus a cold snap in Hell, he doubted very much they'd be crossing paths today. It was a day they both usually went underground for, anyway. Dick knew he didn't have to go it alone. Logan would have come along had he asked, but he never did.

He just couldn't.

It was tough to be around Logan on June 6th, he didn't blame Logan, **_not really_**. But, well, _shit!_ How could he face Logan on this day of all days knowing he was one of the last people to see his baby brother—his screwed up baby brother—alive? There was also the Veronica connection; he knew how his own flesh and blood had scarred the Pixie Spy in countless ways. It hurt too bad to be around other people, and be slapped in the face by his own tenuous connection to their pain as well. Everything hurt on this day though. Why not? He deserved it, after all he was a King Midas—he turned everything he touched to fucking stone. He played no small part in turning Cassidy psycho. He wasn't ignoring Woody Goodman's role in casting Cassidy as a murdering teenager, of course, but he was the one who tormented him from babyhood. He seeded the whole damn thing.

It was only 11 AM, and this hot, sticky day was already proving to be long.

He liked to be around normalcy, especially on this _day_ of all days. He parallel parked his truck, squeezing in behind a bright green convertible, the exact shade of his vomit the last time he was in TJ, partying it up, which happened to just be last week.

The puke green car looked a lot like Mac's, but he couldn't imagine she'd willingly spend her time outside in the heat. Again, she had that whole anti-nature thing going on, minus her _save the Whales_; _don't eat anything with a face_ mentality, of course.

He grabbed his faded blue backpack, and flung it over his shoulder. There was a tall tree, a stately oak tree that had, centuries ago, set up home in the center of the park. He made his way over there, annoyed as he weaved and dodged his way around groups of bored suburban moms trying to herd their rambunctious toddlers towards the playground.

He finally reached his destination—his _thinking tree_.

Mac, his new pseudo-friend—a label she was fond of—was the only one he'd told about the existence of his _thinking tree_. Even she did not know its top-secret location though. Nope, he kept that intel classified.

Flopping down at the base of the massive tree, he was shaded by the leafy umbrella from the probing rays of the mid-day sun. Dick dug through his bag and removed a water bottle that was actually filled with vodka.

His Neptune High days had imparted a lot of valuable lessons, like what a good hiding place plastic water bottles made for clear liquors like vodka and gin—_though vodka made a better choice because it didn't smell like a pine forest_, and cheating off of Mac was always a safe bet, though they'd had exactly five classes together the entire four years and one of them—gym—he didn't need to cheat off of anyone, especially _Ghostworld_.

His walk down memory lane—sometimes he wished it was amnesia lane—was rudely interrupted by a loud thwack of a ball connecting with an aluminum bat and happy shrieks. How dare anyone be happy today? It was a personal affront. Though he knew it was a risk he was undertaking by going to a park, where gaggles of happy kids liked to congregate during the _hell-hot_ Neptune summers. However, this particular _off-the-beaten '09'er path park_ was also home to his thinking tree, so he risked happy park dwellers to sit under the tree's shade and drink and well, _think_.

Dick looked off to his left and saw that there was a game going on in the baseball field. It didn't seem to be a professionally organized though, probably just a group of high school kids enjoying their first full week of summer vacation, when it seemed to yawn out towards infinity, before the boredom set in, infecting their lives and those around them.

Like a bruise he couldn't stop pressing, Dick found himself watching the baseball game and inevitably wondering how many things would have been different if Cassidy had never been bat boy for the Sharks. Maybe that was bullshit, it probably was, but the thing was, there wasn't a time machine that could give him a definitive answer on that.

Without prompting, his mind automatically rewound back to the time machine talk he had with Mac a couple of weeks ago as he "let" her kill him during one of their frequent gaming marathons. He'd had a hard time, that night, keeping from kissing her. He was fairly certain she felt something too, mainly because every time he'd been about to lean in and nip those full red lips she would suddenly get up to grab something—a beer or switch out the game they were playing, _and she was spanking him at_, or to grab a new bag of vegan-friendly munchies he always seemed to keep in the bar area of the suite at the _Grand, _where he still lived with Logan.

He was getting awfully _vegan-friendly_ these days.

When the subject of time machines first came up, he made a joke about wanting to go back in time and battle tigers with a team of gladiators. The pensive expression on Mac's face had slipped, replaced by a frown. He got the distinct impression he'd disappointed her somehow, like maybe he wasn't paying attention to the script she'd created in that_ too_ big brain of hers. Maybe she was trying to broach a serious conversation with him. Dick admittedly had suspected what she'd been trying to say, and it wasn't an area he wanted to tread in yet. Honestly, it wasn't an area he ever truly wanted to explore. Out loud, at least, and definitely not without the aid of his thinking tree and a vodka-ized water bottle.

He couldn't read Mac as clearly as he could the other vapid chicks he used to bed on a weekly basis. The realization struck him again that somewhere during the past year or so he'd found he preferred the element of surprise that came with the whole Mac package. She was a challenge in the best kind of way and though he'd been born to expect silver plated service, it was really not what it seemed to be on the surface. The best reward was when it was earned through hard work rather than just given via nothing more than an accident of birth.

Dick took a big pull from his incognito bottle of vodka, sighed, and leaned his head back against the giant oak. It had weathered so many storms, and yet was still anchored firmly to the Earth, not ready to give up living. Shutting down that thought train before it lead inevitably to Cassidy and the brutally self-inflicted way he died, Dick took yet another drink from his bottle. It wasn't doing its duty. That was an impossible feat, at least on today of all days.

Tired of being in his own head, he decided to take a walk around the vast park instead. Dick picked up the bottle cap he'd placed beside him on the ground, and tightly closed it. He then threw the bottle into his backpack, zipping it up and carelessly throwing it over one shoulder. The thinking-tree was doing its job quite well; he couldn't stop brooding about Cassidy—poor, messed up kid unable to face down the horrors that happened to him, because he was too vulnerable to protect himself. It was his own damn fault his baby brother was too scarred internally to confide in him. He'd done fuck –all to sabotage any hopes of a close brotherly relationship. It would have been easy of course to cast more than a little blame (there was plenty of that to go around) on Big Dick, but then this was an "on the hook" kind of day.

He wished for something, anything really, to take his mind off the calendar, to take his mind off his brother's death, his culpability in the whole tragedy.

Almost as though he were on auto-pilot, Dick found himself wandering closer to the baseball game. He thought he heard a voice shouting the name _Mackenzie_, but he was too far away to be certain. Then, after another 50 feet of progress, he noticed a dark haired girl sitting on the fifth row of bleachers.

_Mac. _

Just then, as though she felt his eyes on her, she took her nose out of her eReader and set it down. She had streaks of Mahogany artfully applied to her chin length hair, a departure from the fire engine shade she was partial to in high school. She just kept getting hotter and hotter.

She looked up just then and turned her head in his direction as if she'd tuned into his thought frequencies or some sci-fi crap like that. She seemed to notice him, based on the expression that stole over her face. The tell-tale smirk was just for him, it was an expression she wore well.

He matched her smirk and took it up a notch. **_Game, set, match! _**

His own smirk was short lived though when he noticed a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. It was the baseball heading straight towards Mac. The kid up at bat had misjudged the pitch, and ended up hitting it into the stands.

Dick screamed out her name, the terror rising up and wrapping itself around the word, so much meaning packed in her too short nickname.

He held his hands up in the air, a referee motion; as though he thought he might actually be able to stop the ball mid-trajectory. He had a lot of thoughts flashing through his mind all in the span of the mere seconds it took for the ball to collide with the side of Mac's head with violent force. He wished he could stop time just long enough to alter the course of the ball. He wished he had been sitting there with her, and could have caught the ball with his bare hand. Even if it had broken his hand in the process, it would be a price he'd have paid without hesitation. He would have paid any price to have a do-over at that moment, anything at all to have prevented it from happening in the first place. He didn't take the time to evaluate where these thoughts were stemming from, it didn't matter.

In horror, Dick watched Mac fall backward, colliding with the bench behind her from the violent force of the impact. Then she hunched into herself, limp, unconscious.

This was not what he meant when he had wished for something, anything, to take his mind off Cassidy. He wouldn't have wished that on anyone, but especially not Mac. She'd endured too much pain in this life, a major chunk of it from the hands' of his own flesh and blood.

Still screaming her name, Dick ran towards the bleachers. A crowd had gathered around her, though no one seemed to know what to do. The game apparently stopped mid-play at the realization that a spectator had been hurt.

His frantic shouts of _Mac_ mixed in with equally terror filled screams of _Cindy_. He presumed it was her brother. Raphael? Ryan. Yeah, Ryan, he was sure the kid was named Ryan; they'd met briefly when he came to visit his sister at Hearst College the previous semester. Some short, stocky redheaded kid was right on Ryan's heels.

The three of them converged on the scene at the same time, but Dick pushed in ahead, parting the crowd around her. He didn't care at that moment in time whether the now-crying baseball player was her family or not. His entire focus was on Mac.

Some well-meaning bystander—who was obviously short on brains—had laid Mac out on the bench, before he'd been close enough to stop them. Even he knew you shouldn't move an unconscious victim unless they were in imminent danger, like about to get crushed by a train, or some such shit as that. She wasn't moving, and her eyes were shut.

_Did she even have a chance to process what was about to happen before the ball struck?_ He hoped not. One of the most haunting images seared in his brain concerning the brutal, but self-inflicted, way his brother died was the idea of the primal horror he'd had to experience as he'd been about to meet pavement. The idea of Mac—through no fault of her own—feeling even something slightly akin to that terror made him nauseous.

Dick knelt down beside her, sandwiching his tall, lanky frame in the narrow aisle space of the rickety bleachers. He didn't notice the wooden splinters slicing into him as he gently checked the side of her neck for her pulse.

Dick could see that she was breathing, though it seemed shallow to his untrained ears. He watched the rise and fall of her chest. The pulse, though he had no freaking clue what the desired rate of speed was, seemed a bit sluggish. The closest he came to being a doctor was his prized **_Freelance Gynecologist_** tee-shirt he often wore, he definitely wasn't versed in the Hippocratic Oath, but he dug down deep and tried to access any medical training he had from a summer course back in high school that 'trophy bimbo stepmom number 3' (the one that preceded Kendall) made him take so that he wouldn't drown during surfing and interrupt one of her personal training-sex-sessions. He wasn't recalling much right now. There was a lot of yelling _call 9-1-1_'s and feeling up a stuffed doll named Annie, none of that seemed like it would be very relevant in this situation.

The bench shifted and bowed under his feet, as Mac's brother knelt down beside him, so he, too, was stationed next to Mac. The kid reached out and gently stroked her forehead before Dick could stop him. He was afraid the gentle, soothing, gesture would cause her more pain, though the kid made a concentrated effort to avoid the point of impact, which was closer to her temple. It was definitely starting to swell, but not nearly as much as he would have expected from the speed the ball was traveling.

Unfortunately, there wasn't any flicker of response from Mac. As much as he hated the idea of her being in any more pain than she already had to be in, he also hoped that maybe the pain would bring her out of this scary, unconscious state.

The red headed kid trailing Mac's brother had located her black messenger bag that had fallen off the bench in the melee, and was rifling through it. Dick glared at him, but before he could say anything, the kid triumphantly held up her phone, most likely as an explanation as to why he had been snooping in her bag to begin with. He dialed 9-1-1.

As he disconnected the call, the kid announced that the ambulance was on its way, then he dropped Mac's phone back into her bag. He distantly heard Mac's brother call the redhead kid Zane, but his focus wasn't really on anything other than Mac. He grabbed one of her hands that had been folded on top of her chest, as though she were posed. It was to keep her arms from dropping through the spaces between the aisle and bench seats of the aging, weather-worn bleachers. He gripped her slack hand and held it gently in one palm while stroking it with the other hand.

After probably a minute, though it could have been a lot less or a lot more than that, he watched her eyes flutter open. She ripped her hand away from his grip. She glanced around, having no clue where she was, disoriented. He could tell she was about to sit up, so he quickly shut that operation down. He laid his right arm across her chest, a blocking move. She was too confused and weak to fight him off.

She groaned in response.

"No you don't, Mac-a-doodle," he leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Stay down."

She licked her lips and tried to say something. He watched what looked like panic—or a close cousin to it—overtake her.

He had to believe it was a good sign that she was conscious at least. Relief broke through him, flooding his synapses. "Your ride to the hospital is on its way. They'll get you all fixed up." He hadn't been able to be there for his brother; now at least he got the chance with Mac. He took her hand back.

A look to replace the panic passed over her face, something he couldn't quite label, it was brief though, and then the blank look of confusion settled over her features once again. It didn't look at home on her face.

The skinny kid smiled real big when he saw that Mac was awake. "Sis! Hang tight. You'll be okay." He wiped a tear quickly from his eye before it fell, as though he didn't want anyone to see him upset, his friends/teammates presumably.

She murmured something but it wasn't really clear. She tried to grab the kid's hand, but couldn't focus well enough to do even that simple gesture. He grabbed at her other hand, the one Dick wasn't holding.

The siren from the ambulance drew closer.

In mere moments the bedlam of everyone loudly gathered around Mac, trying to figure out what to do, had been transformed into a subdued tableau as the paramedics expertly came up on the scene and got to work treating the patient. One uniformed worker kept the rest of the crowd back while the other three focused all resources on the patient.

Ryan fired out answers to the barrage of questions that were shot his way from one of the paramedics. She had long brown hair, big boobs and buck teeth. Dick found himself honing in on her teeth—with maybe a couple small peaks at the boobs, they were in close proximity to his face after all; it was easier than watching strangers poke and prod the too-still girl on the bench. This girl wasn't the one he knew, the oh-so-very alive Mac with her bossy ways, quick wit and seamless way of schooling him so covertly he found that he looked forward to debating things with her.

In matter of minutes they were loading her on the stretcher, and parting the crowd as they transported her to the waiting ambulance, parked on the grass before the steep hill began its descent.

Dick trailed behind, watching Ryan running to keep up. At the bay of the ambulance, he was fighting with big boobs and buck teeth about riding in the back with his sister. There was a dejected expression on the kid's face.

The doors slammed shut, with an echo and the ambulance pulled away with Mac, sirens blaring.

He guided Ryan towards his big yellow quad cab truck—Mac called it his Banana mobile—and they made their way to Neptune Memorial. His worried tangle of thoughts was interrupted by Ryan's phone call to his mom. He heard the kid brokenly explaining "Cindy" was hurt, maybe badly, and he was heading to the hospital with some dude she knew from school. Her worried mom's voice filled up the truck, wrapping itself around him. For once, Dick found himself happy, instead of jealous, that she had a caring mom at least. He figured with all she was going through, she needed someone to take care of her that wasn't a self-involved bitch like Betina. Even to himself, he couldn't call her his mom anymore. She'd divorced that right when she couldn't be bothered to come to Cass's funeral.

The scenery blurred by as Dick sped through the streets of Neptune, now stone sober, the affects of his vodka-ized "water" long having worn off in the adrenaline soaked events of Mac's accident.

He figured he probably broke speed records, less than six minutes later they had parked in the emergency lot.

As Dick and Ryan raced through the automatic double doors leading to the artificially lit up Emergency Room, the thought that perhaps Mac hadn't even made to the hospital in time made him draw to a sudden stop. The desire to remain ignorant ran strong in him. Ryan, on the other hand, hadn't noticed a thing. He was too intent on getting to his sister.

Taking a deep breath, Dick once again made his way towards the admissions desk. He hung back and let Ryan take point on it.

After being given the run around, they were instructed to sit down and wait for a status update on Mac's condition.

The wait seemed interminable, but the idea of being anywhere else didn't even occur to him.

**_…_****_TBC_**

**_*******How did I do? That box down there is pretty lonely. Thanks!******_**


	3. Chapter 3--Bloodstains

**_A/N: Here's the first switched-up Mac chapter. Pay attention to the tags in this chapter, the timeline skips around a bit! There's also a bit of a parallel storyline too. Thank you so much for the great response this story is getting! Much appreciated, I hope everyone keeps on liking this AU view of Mac. I'd especially like to thank my beta, cainc3 for all her HARDWORK and great ideas! Enjoy! _**

**_Obligatory disclaimer-Nope, I still can't lay claim to this wonderful VM 'verse. It's all Rob Thomas and the gang. Love to play around though._**

**_Chapter 3—Bloodstains_**

**_*****Neptune High School, Football field 2004*****_**

Flashes of objects, a mental montage of images bombarded Mac's senses, overloading her misfiring circuits. The smell of freshly mown grass mingled with the metallic tang of blood. Pristine white converse sneakers were encircling her—walling around her prone body. Mac was drowning in the sensory overload and the pain that threatened to envelop and choke her. She didn't know why she was on the ground; she didn't know what preceded the hard landing that put her in this situation to begin with. She felt like she'd been dropped into the middle of a scene, the action going on around her while she struggled to find the script everyone else knew by heart. It was a surreal feeling; she thought maybe that was how a newborn baby felt as they left the womb—the only world they ever knew, only to be dropped into a cold new existence.

Mac had a lot of questions in that brief atom of time, but no answers.

She could hear snatches of whispered conversation from the crowd gathered around her, though she couldn't focus on the words being said.

Her reverie was interrupted by someone parting the sea of pep squad clones, with their matching yellow and green spirit outfits; the newcomer knelt beside her, whispering softly that she'd be okay as he gently, tenderly, rolled her over on her side.

She saw her caretaker remove his gray tee-shirt so he could press it—hard—against her bleeding head. She moaned from the agony of that necessary gesture. He leaned down, his longish blond hair brushing against her cheek as he apologized for hurting her. He didn't lessen the pressure though.

She heard the far-off sound of one of the pep clones retching, probably from the sight of her blood soaking the shirt.

Feeling like she just needed to get away, as though everything was pressing down on her, Mac started to get up, but it took more energy than she had in reserve. Apparently that was the wrong move because her vision started going gray around the edges, the sea of clones and her mystery caretaker all blurred together until the inky blackness swallowed her whole.

.

**_***Present time—June 6_****_th_****_, 2009, Settler's Park***_**

Mac's eyes blinked open, and then she quickly shut them again. The strong Neptune summer sun was shining directly in her eyes. Heaving a shallow breath, which was all she evidently was capable of, she attempted to open her eyes again despite the bright glow in her eyes. She was lying down flat on her back.

Two extremely worried faces were peering down at her, a little closer in her personal space than she'd like. One was her brother, she knew that instantly. Ry…Ryan, yeah, that was his name.

The other face, a shaggy-haired blond, was very familiar, too, but she couldn't place his name, not even just the first letter of his name. It was a frightening feeling. She had no clue where she was, or why she was on her back.

She needed to sit up, she couldn't stay here, and that thought was more coherent and insistent than anything else right now. She was vaguely aware of pain, but it was at a distance, being held back by unseen forces. Mac started to push forward, her body so heavy, but she was starting to make progress, though the further forward she propelled herself, the closer the pain got to breaking the barrier. Her progress was quickly impeded by an arm.

She groaned.

"No you don't, Mac-a-doodle," the guy leaned over, closer to her head, and whispered in her ear. "Stay down."

The guy, who she obviously knew—but had no recollection of his name—was holding her back. She had no energy to fight him so she lay back down reluctantly. She was definitely the _beta_ at this moment, weakened and injured. She knew something bad had happened.

Mac licked her lips and then tried to say something more than just a primal moan. What though? She wasn't entirely sure. _What's your am I_, was on the tip of her tongue to say, which wasn't right. She didn't know the right way to phrase what she wanted to say though. However, that ended up being a moot point when nothing came out at all, except maybe what could be classified as a croak. Her eyes widened and she looked around frantically.

"Your ride to the hospital is on its way. They'll get you all fixed up," the guy continued, trying to reassure her.

His plan was unsuccessful.

He grabbed one of her hands that had been positioned—posed—on her chest.

Despite the basic knowledge that she needed help, **_badly_**, something in that sentence was taunting her. She was stacking up the questions, but falling short on the answers.

A strangled sound made her turn to look, or at least attempt, to at the second guy—her brother. He smiled. "Sis! Hang tight. You'll be okay." She saw him wiping an eye, trying to be covert about it. The fact that Ryan, her big, tough baby brother, was crying did nothing to allay her fears. In fact, it multiplied them.

She murmured something—or tried to—but again it wasn't very clear to her, or probably anyone else. She attempted to grab Ryan's hand, but lacked the necessary focus to get that task done. He grabbed at her free hand, the one the other guy wasn't holding tightly in his sweaty grip.

Then things got busy as a bunch of Strangers, in identical navy blue uniforms, were leaning over her, poking and prodding.

The hands tethering her to consciousness were ripped away and everything went dark once again.

**_***Neptune Memorial Hospital 2004***_**

Mac opened her eyes. A bright fluorescent light was shining down on her, she quickly clinched them shut again. Alarm at the unfamiliar flashes she saw, in that brief glimpse, had her opening them again, much slower this time. The light hurt her head, which was aching fiercely.

_A three alarm hangover perhaps? _

It didn't really seem like one of those, she'd had a few of those in her day—not many, she hardly lived the party lifestyle, but being in college she didn't live under a rock either. A hangover didn't adequately explain the unfamiliar location she'd awakened in either. She definitely wasn't in the habit of drunken "slumber parties" with members of the male species. It was too sterile and white-washed to be a Hearst College dorm room.

No, this was definitely not a party-induced headache.

"Oh, good, you're awake," A red-headed woman in blue scrubs said, peering down at her. "How are you feeling, sweetie? You're at Neptune Memorial." Her cool hand smoothed out the big gauze bandage she'd carefully applied to Mac's forehead. She pressed down along the edges, while artfully avoiding making contact with ground zero. "Your mom just got here."

"Um," Mac began, making a move as though she wanted to get up, but the nurse pushed her back down.

"You need to just lie still, you've got a bit of a concussion," the nurse gently admonished. "You fell during cheerleading practice. You were the top of the pyramid. I don't think many people realize how many cheerleaders we see come through the ER."

_Cheerleading? _Mac's hand automatically went up to her head, making contact with the bandage. She then smoothed back an errant strand of hair that had fallen in her face.

It felt…odd. It seemed to be longer than the chin length bob she had been wearing the past two years. To double check she grasped a chunk and traced its length with her fingers, it stopped at her shoulders. The first icy tinge of fear wrapped around her. Trying to keep the trepidation from her voice, she asked for a mirror. Her left-ruled brain needed the confirmation, though she hoped her theorem would be disproved.

"You've got four stitches there, and a big bump," the nurse replied, to set the scene as she grabbed a hand-held mirror out of the second drawer of her supply cart. She placed it in Mac's outstretched hand.

Taking a deep breath, Mac looked in the mirror and swallowed her gasp. Her hair was indeed sweeping her shoulders and three prominent chunks of purple were highlighting the otherwise black strands. The stark white bandage covered the doctor's handiwork.

"Our plastic surgeon, Dr. Pence, did the stitches and he says there won't be any scarring. He's out there now talking with your mom; she should be in here shortly," the nurse continued, in a reassuring tone.

She closed her eyes briefly, trying unsuccessfully to blink back the tears that unexpectedly populated her eyes at the mere mention of her mom. She needed the comfort that only Natalie could provide; she was in pain right now, as well as confused and scared. The only cure she needed at the moment was a hug, a lavender scented mom-hug. _Lavender Field_ was the name of the perfume Natalie wore; it was her signature scent and the very definition of homecoming.

The door swung open, on cue, and her eyes tracked over to the doorway. The woman framed in it had long black hair, and was in jeans and a gray **_DKNY_** branded tee-shirt, but on her it didn't look casual.

Mac gasped again, this time out loud. Her heart skipped a beat out of pure adrenaline-overloaded fear. She brushed away the tears that leaked out of her eyes as she tried to find a rational explanation for first, why she had long hair and second, why it was Ellen, and not Natalie, standing there oozing motherly concern.

Maybe…Hell, she had nothing.

Ellen Sinclair_—her bio-mom—_a future-version of herself; she knew whose genes were dominant in this equation.

The nurse left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Oh Madison, darling, you poor thing. Your dad is still stuck at a board meeting, but he'll be leaving work as soon as possible." She strode over to the large table dominating the private room, and perched on the edge by Mac's head. She hesitantly reached a hand out, and smoothed back her hair, avoiding touching the injury. "Does it hurt?"

_Wait! What? Back the tape…Madison?_ Did she just get called Madison? Did she lose some of her hearing, too? Mac reached up and pulled on an ear lobe. She didn't say anything for a long moment; sure shock had rendered her speechless. There was a first time for everything. She wondered what the hell kind of b-rated movie she just pitched head first into.

_Literally! _

Ellen just looked at her expectantly. She cocked her head and opened her mouth again, probably to repeat the question.

Mac muttered finally, "I have a little bit of a headache, but not too bad. I think they numbed the cut pretty good before stitching me up." There was another pause, but brief this time. "Um mom," she put in as an afterthought. There was a bit of a question in her voice, but Ellen didn't seem to notice.

She once again shut her eyes, both against a fresh wave of pain and also in the vain hope that it was just an injury-induced hallucination and she'd open her eyes to see Natalie Mackenzies' sympathetic green eyes staring back instead of Ellen's eerily, identical blue eyes. She wished, fervently, to be wrapped in that lavender scented embrace.

No such luck—Ellen hadn't winked out of existence.

**_This damn rabbit hole kept getting curiouser and curiouser._**

"I know I pushed you into the pep squad, because team activities look so good on college applications, but maybe it's…" Ellen began, then her voice trailed off, and a look of what Mac could only label as mother's guilt flashed on her face. She squeezed her hand gently with one hand, as she continued to stroke Mac's head with the other. Taking a deep breath, she then continued, "It's too much for you on top of the computer classes you teach at the senior center. I know I get pushy sometimes, but I only want the best life possible for my girls, unfortunately you got my coordination, kiddo."

It was obvious that while the universe was righting its cosmic wrongs, her bio mom was in the waiting room mentally beating herself up. Mac wanted to speak up and say she didn't belong in this life, she'd served her sentence and moved on, but—honestly—a little voice inside reminded her she belonged here, in this life, more than her original life. She was hurting, and didn't think she had the spare energy reserved to explain what she didn't understand to begin with.

It was a very existential moment.

Why the hell didn't Martha Stewart run an etiquette website for people thrust into a new, strange, unfamiliar world? She designed websites, maybe that could be her next project. There was apparently a market for a service such as that—she wasn't the only one living a _do-over _existence_,_ was she?

The pain was really bearing down on her, hell; her brain was hurting from the collision of several sci-fi concepts made into her current reality. Her mom never understood her love of that genre, of course that was a part of the _why and how_ she found out about the switch to begin with. She and her parents seemed to be from separate planets, alternate realities. That disconnect, the chasm, had been apparent to her from a very young age.

What if she had never been in the bathroom—the girl's bathroom, first floor, across from the reception desk in front of Principal Clemmons' office junior year, when Veronica was conducting a clandestine meeting with a "client" about the secret life of her mother back in the early 80's. She never would have conceived of the "get dirt" website, and definitely would never have had the brass balls—iron _vagina_—to ask Veronica to spy on her parents' financial transactions. She'd be living her original life in blissful ignorance, still nagged by the inner voice bitching about how she didn't fit in with the camping, great-outdoors loving Mackenzies.

It was that thought train, that she'd hitched a ride on, that was making her brain hurt, helped along, of course, by the head injury she'd just sustained.

She wondered what year of high school she'd crashed, but was afraid of the ramifications of asking. How long would she be stuck in this warp of time? Would it really be "stuck"? Madison had piles of money, oodles of opportunities handed to her on a silver plate, after all.

Maybe taking her birth right as a Sinclair wouldn't be a bad thing. Then again, these were the people that raised the prototype Madison Sinclair—soul sucking bitch of epic proportion in her _unbiased_ opinion—so maybe this was a disaster in the making.

Regardless of which scenario would play out, she was stuck in this alternate life for who the hell knew how long. She had a lot of time to dwell on her strange _new normal_ as the staff, of the place that had made the monumental mistake of switching her and the bitch queen in the first place, insisted on chaining her to bed #5 in the overcrowded emergency room under the guise of observation.

Her mom moved to a chair across the room to give the staff space for round two of poking and prodding.

**_******The Sinclair's house******_**

Just over two hours later Mac/Madison was released from Neptune Memorial. Her mom had been given a list of symptoms associated with head injuries and concussions to watch out for, and also instructions on wound care. It was determined that while concussions were concerning, there wouldn't be any serious ramifications to her health. She just needed to take it easy for a couple of days.

Ellen—'mom2' she started thinking of her as, because just plain _mom_ seemed disloyal to Natalie, the woman who had raised her in _real_ life—kept up a steady stream of chatter on the ride home. She apologized, for probably the tenth time, for her father being tied up in that _darn meeting_, promising he'd definitely be home for dinner though.

Mac didn't say much, she was tired and aching. The thought of meeting her bio dad for her first conscious time was kind of nerve-wracking though, especially since she was the only one who knew it was the first time. She did not even know his first name. She smiled wryly at that thought as she studied the route they traced from the hospital through the not-as-familiar streets comprising the heart of '09'er territory. Until they drew near Shady Springs Court, that was. She knew that neighborhood quite well. 'mom2' pulled her Volvo SUV into one of the bays of the three car garage and killed the motor. She came around to the passenger side door and gently helped Mac out of the car. She guided her up the five stairs that led into the house. They tracked through the mud room (though she suspected that was a misnomer, by all appearances mud was probably a foreign concept to this house) out into the kitchen, then the family room beyond.

Mac was gently escorted over to the large, beige, L-Shaped sofa dominating the center of the large room. As she lay down, her mom ('mom2') lovingly tucked a hand-knit, gray and black throw over her, explaining the contractor was up in her room working on expanding her built-in desk that was being overrun by her complex web of computers. Then she grabbed one of the three remotes neatly lined up on the large marble topped coffee table in front of the couch, turning on the flat screen TV hung over the stone fireplace dominating an entire wall, and toggled her way through to the recorded show listing of the TiVo.

Expertly making her desired selection, she then queued it up and slammed the remote on the table, probably louder than she meant to. It landed next to an open Sudoku book with one of the puzzles partially opened and a pen lying on top of it—otherwise there wasn't anything else cluttering up the dust free surface. It was a stark contrast to the Mackenzies' coffee table where most of the time there wasn't a square inch of space to be found.

"Sorry baby, you don't need loud noises right now." She shrugged sheepishly. "I put on an episode of _The Simple Life_; I know it's one of your guilty pleasures. I'm going to check on Lauren, and then see what Lucille made for our dinner." She bent over and gently kissed the top of Mac's head. "I'll bring you a tray. Just rest up, dear."

The frisson of pain that flared up at the mention of Lauren's name had nothing to do with her head, well not much at least.

As she ruminated about the strange wrinkle in time that had allowed her to crash Madison's life, the show droned on in the background. It wasn't one she particularly enjoyed, though she had caught bits and pieces from time to time as it had been her mom,Natalie's, favorite show back when she was in high school_—originally._

On screen, rich, spoiled Airhead 1 was trying to con rich, spoiled Airhead 2 into cleaning out the pig sty, but neither of them had the foresight to close the gate and as they debated who should do what, the pigs made their escape.

Airhead 1, a tall, skinny blonde with a whiny voice, reminded Mac of someone she knew a long time ago but really couldn't stand, the name escaped her at the moment, and she doubted that was merely a casualty of her recent head injury. She had thought the high school days were firmly in the rearview mirror. She needed her head examined, and not because of the prominent bump that was starting to throb and ache as the numbing shot wore off.

It occurred to her that headaches and whiny airheads that looked too much like _Neptune High_ classmates she'd rather forget in the first place were not a good combination. Extending her arm out, Mac made contact with the remote from its perching place on the coffee table. She turned off the _unreality show_, and started flipping through the channels. A brief glance at the time and date stamp on the guide channel proved her theory from the hospital, that she'd gone back to 2004 was correct—it was November 12th, 2004. Seeing that _Star Trek: Enterprise_ was about to start, she landed on that channel.

On the large TV in front of her, she watched as the bay doors opened and Captain Archer strode in. He was about to get into an onscreen verbal pissing match with the female Vulcan, Lt. Commander T'Pol , when her viewing was interrupted by a squeal and a loud thud as something hit the table beside her. She didn't bother investigating the thud, there was no time really.

"Madi! You're back, you're okay. Lucy didn't tell me much; just that mom was at the hospital with you. How do you feel?"

A girl, with long black hair, ran into the room and launched herself on top of Mac. She turned her head toward the high back of the couch so the girl—_Lauren_—wouldn't see her tear up. She wiped away the evidence, her emotions were all over the place anyway, but this added a whole level to what was already a tenuous grip to begin with.

Once the tears were gone, she turned back around to face the little sister who didn't seem eager to sever the embrace, either. She looked exactly the same as she did the first time they ever met, the first time she'd known she had a blood sister out there, being raised less than four miles apart from each other.

"I'm okay, really," she assured her.

"What happened?"

"I fell at practice, and hit my head. I have four tiny stitches."

Lauren wrinkled her nose—her cute nose, the little button one that looked so much like the one Mac saw in the mirror reflecting back at her.

"Does it hurt?" Lauren asked softly, as though the answer was important to her. She got off of Mac, and scooted over, so she was sitting on the couch at her feet.

"A little," she admitted. Lauren looked upset at the thought of her, Madi, in pain so she rushed on to reassure her, "not too bad. It looks worse than it feels." Slowly, creakily, she sat up so she could see her little sister's face better. She closed her eyes for a second against the crescendo of pain that reverberated at the additional movement, placing her hand on her stomach, as though to stop the rise of nausea. Evidently, she spoke too soon, at that moment it hurt worse than it looked.

"Promise?"

"I promise!" Mac said as soon as she could talk again without feeling like she'd throw up from the pain. It was a necessary lie.

If she were trying to have that conversation with Ryan, especially at that age, 11 or 12, Mac surmised, he'd be prying the bandage off so he could see her "gross" stitches. He'd be trying to touch them too, more science experiment than concern for her comfort. It wasn't that Ryan didn't love her, he did, it's just that he was an active, curious boy at that age—and his current age, too.

_The comparisons and contrasts were apparent already._

For about five minutes, both girls just quietly sat there watching the action on the screen. It was a typical family scene on a typical Friday night, Mac thought, except for the fact that there was nothing typical at all about this situation.

Finally, Lauren broke the comfortable silence that sat between them.

"It's my fault, you know," she said, impressively matter-of-fact about her whole statement of guilt.

"What's your fault?"

"Your accident," Lauren wouldn't look her in the eye when she said that.

"You pushed me off the human pyramid at cheerleading practice today?" Mac mockingly asked. She grimaced as she said the word cheerleading, like it was acidic tasting, like a lemon.

"No, silly, I was here finishing my science homework."

Mac flashed her sister a blank look.

"This morning, you know, when I…Oh you know, you were there," her tone was exasperated.

_No, I don't know, I __**wasn't**__ here this morning_, Mac thought, but of course knew she couldn't say it aloud. Neptune Memorial would be reserving a bed in her name in the psych ward. "That may be true, but I still need you to fill in some gaps in the story." She pointed to the bandage on her head as a plausible explanation.

_Like all of the gaps!_

"I love being in the same family, and you had every right to be mad that I was in your room. I should have asked for the book instead of taking it."

"Book?"

"_The Westing Game_," Lauren reminded her. She gestured to the table and Mac saw it sitting there, lying slightly askew. That must have been the thud she'd heard earlier.

"It's a great book, one of my favorites. What do you want it for, class?"

"Well, after break we're going to start reading it for English. I guess I just wanted to see why you liked it so much, maybe get a jump on things."

That was definitely not a statement that ever would have passed Ryan's lips.

"Did you think I wouldn't lend it to you?" Mac asked.

Lauren shook her head. She reached around Mac and grabbed the book off the table. "You weren't receptive to the idea this morning."

"Well, I am now," Mac assured her.

"I won't lose it. The last book of yours I lost was a long time ago, at least a year ago," she continued her barrage of arguments as to why she deserved a second chance despite Mac's ready agreement. "I'll even inscribe it, so I won't forget who it really belongs to."

She leaned forward to grab the pen sitting on the coffee table. Opening the cover, she hastily scrawled:

_Live long & prosper! Get better soon. Love, Lauren_

She handed the book over to Mac with a flourish.

Mac read it and grinned. "Nice quote. I didn't know you were old-school in your Trekkie ways."

"Dad's influence," she said, trying to do the accompanying Vulcan sign and falling flat.

Mac reached over and adjusted her fingers so there was a prominent space between the middle and ring fingers on her right hand, and then she did her own salute.

"Thanks, Madi," Lauren said grinning.

The verbal reminder of her new name and accompanying life made her earlier bout of nausea flicker again. It also erased the pleasure she felt at their brief bit of sisterly-_Star Trek_ bonding.

That was the cue 'mom2' took to come back into the room with a tray of dinner. It held a big bowl of homemade vegetable soup—meatless, her mom rushed to assure her—and a glass of ice water. At least she was a veg head in this existence too.

Her mom briefly set the tray on the table so she could help Mac lie back down. Once that was accomplished she tucked two thick, throw pillows under her to prop her up into a proper eating position. She then carefully positioned the wicker tray over Mac, taking care not to spill any of the soup. Once that task was finished, she nudged her younger daughter down a little bit so she could be sandwiched on the big couch between both her girls. She placed Mac's feet on her lap.

As Mac began to tuck into the soup—out of politeness more than appetite—she felt like an animal on display as her mom and sister didn't bother to pretend that they weren't studying her as she ate. 'Mom2' still wore the requisite sad eyes that were a part of having a child who was recently injured. Lauren was harder to read, but Mac had to assume that their _Star Trek_ bonding moment only partly assuaged the guilt she still had from a fight that Mac hadn't actually been privy to anyway.

Suddenly, mid-bite, the sound of a masculine throat being cleared startled Mac, and she ended up spilling the contents of her soup spoon on the tray below. 'mom2' was positioned on the couch so that she was facing the doorway, where the sound had originated.

"Oh, Sam, I almost forgot about you, working diligently on Madison's room. Are you finished or should I expect you back tomorrow morning?" Ellen/'Mom2' sounded startled.

Mac was facing the opposite direction, but at the mention of the name Sam she did a double take. She didn't turn around though, that is, not until she heard his familiar-sounding, low voiced response.

"I finished the built-in desk expansion, complete with a bookcase on the far corner. Now there's plenty more room for all those works of staggering genius," Sam explained. The last bit about staggering genius was said in a teasing voice. Then he paused, formulating what to say next.

Mac always liked that about her dad, he was methodical in the way he expressed himself. She used to think her halting speech habits came from his side of the family, now she wondered if it wasn't more of a nurture thing over Mackenzie nature.

"It actually was very straightforward, followed my blueprints exactly, no surprises," Sam continued. "I did have a little issue with finding the trusses though, so I lost some time earlier in the afternoon, but it's all finished now. Nat is going to be mad that I'm a little late; there was some trouble with Cindy today, evidently. I'm sure I'll get all the details soon." A grimace crossed his face briefly, but it faded quickly.

Mac/Madison watched the guy she grew up calling dad talk to her mom—bio mom, 'mom2'—as though their lives were only casually linked. She searched for some sign of recognition. The feeling she got when he said "Cindy" and not in reference to her was so alien, she wasn't sure there was a word invented for it.

At last his eyes did lock on her, but absent was the usual expression of adoration he reserved for his "precious little girl." He did seem a little wistful though, but she quickly dismissed that as wishful thinking, her old habit of over-analyzing, it was bleeding into this existence as well.

"Madison, you're a junior at Neptune, as well. Right?"

"Yes," she replied quietly, her eyes drifting to the chandelier in the hall behind where he was standing. To an outside observer it would appear as though she were looking at him.

"Do you know my daughter Cindy?"

"Not really, not very well. It's a big school," she lied. Her eyes never left the hanging crystal teardrops of the fancy light fixture behind him.

"Oh, yes, I can see that," he replied, before turning his attention back to Mrs. Sinclair and the money she owed him for the new bookcases and shelves.

Mac didn't really pay attention to the rest of the transaction between Sam and 'mom2'. At long last the door shut, and he was on his way back home to a Cindy that was not her.

Her headache drilled deeper as her past life, and this strange new existence she'd been mysteriously thrown into, collided.

**_TBC…_**

**_**Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are always appreciated..._**


	4. Chapter 4--Luxe

_**A/N: Another Mac chapter, which delves more into her strange new back-in-2004 existence as a Sinclair. I'm so pleased with the amount of reviews, favorites, follows this twisty AU story is getting. Thank you so much! I hope you continue to enjoy it.**_**_ I love hearing from everyone! Oh, and thank you to my wonderful beta-cainc3! _**

**_Obligatory Disclaimer: Nope, I STILL do not own Veronica Mars, that's all RT's & the gang. I do enjoy playing around in it, though. I also don't own any of the pop culturey things I reference, movies, product placement, all that jazz..._**

**_Chapter 4—Luxe _**

**_***November 2004***_**

Mac's weekend was pretty much ruled by the business of recovering from her cheerleading accident and trying to make some kind of sense out of the cosmic worm hole that had sucked her in.

On Saturday, she opened her eyes hoping the whole screwy mess had been sorted out and she would wake up in her old—**_wrong_** family—life, the one that was familiar and comfortable.

The first thing she saw was purple washed walls, a stark colored contrast to the cool white walls of her cluttered room on Colony Place.

Nope, evidently she was still playing the role of Madison Sinclair, down to the pink fuzzy pajamas she was wearing, with little black and white kittens on them. She blocked the next logical thought though (the one about it not actually being a role but a way of life), not wanting to strain her injured, still recuperating brain.

The bed in the purple lair was big enough to qualify for its own zip code, but despite that it didn't even take up a quarter of the available real estate. She could put the entire upstairs of the house on Colony Place in her bedroom/bathroom "suite" here and have leftover room to walk, or run laps, if she did that. Did she do that in this mixed up life?

She had yet to meet her bio dad for the first time. She'd gone to bed shortly after Sam had left to go home to that _other _Cindy and to Ryan and Natalie with her lavender scented hugs. There was a lot that was screwy with that whole thought process.

Technically, she supposed, she had already met her bio dad, but it was long ago and she obviously didn't carry any memory of that brief meeting because the next day she'd been put into the waiting arms of the Mackenzies and taken home to Colony Place. That meeting didn't really count in the grand scheme of things. How the hell did you act when meeting someone for the first time and they thought they'd known you your entire life?

How the frak could she recover from a concussion with these thoughts circling the drain of her brain? She wished fervently for a confidant, one that wouldn't grab a straight jacket and strap her down to a table in the psych ward. She came up short on names. Veronica? _Maybe._

Were they even friends in this existence?

Not wanting to stare too long at the foreign purple walls, Mac slowly got out of the very comfortable bed with its matching Egyptian Cotton sheets, which being she was in a '09'er domain now she estimated they carried a thread count of 1,500 or something equally luxe like that.

She was carefully making her way out of the bedroom and into the long, bright hallway, which lead to the winding staircase, when she saw her dad—'Dad2'—exiting what was presumably the master suite three doors up from her room.

He caught up to her, giving her a gentle hug, then drew back to look at her, his eyes focusing on the bandage on her forehead. Softly he ghosted the edges, then shifted her over so he could walk with her, and support her, if need be, on their way downstairs. It was a fatherly gesture, but more reserved than Sam would have been, with his teasing ways to cover up his very real parental fears.

"Madison, kiddo, sorry I didn't make it to the hospital in time last night. The board just would not agree on, well, on just about anything…" his voice trailed off.

They made their way carefully down the stairs, Mac closest to the railing. Her grip tightened, making her knuckles white. She still wasn't used to be called Madi/Madison, and was fairly certain she never would be. She studied 'Dad2' as they walked. He was tall, probably close to 6 feet, and had the same dark hair his wife and daughters had, but his was thinning on top, and graying along the sides. Unlike Sam, this dad was thin; he showed no signs of the middle-aged spread.

"That's okay, dad," she assured him, again her voice did that default questioning thing. She was still testing, tasting that word out with this _new_ family.

She stepped off the last stair, on to the (expensive) red and gold Persian rug covering the wood floors extending throughout the entire first floor. 'Dad2' moved his hand down to the small of her back, still guiding her.

"I did peak in on you after I got home, you were fast asleep," he elaborated.

"Yeah, a concussion will really take it out of a girl," she quipped.

He chuckled fondly, and moved his hand up so he could tweak her hair, staying clear of the point of injury.

They made their way into the family room, her dad depositing her on the same big sofa she spent most of her first night as a Sinclair on until 'Mom2' had insisted she go to bed.

Lauren was once again parked on the couch in the same spot, like she had it on reserve. She was in a pair of striped pajamas though, a bowl of _Lucky Charms_ cereal perched on her lap. _Scooby Doo_ was playing on the television.

The titular character, however, was more interested in lobbying for a Scooby Snack than finding out the true identity of the Marsh Monster terrifying the small town they were stranded in. She was so involved in her show and breakfast she spared only a brief sideways glance at Mac.

Mac stretched out, easing her still aching head on a stack of throw pillows. The cut was stinging, too. 'Dad2' placed the blanket hanging over the back of the couch on top of Mac and whispered that he'd be right back with a bowl of oatmeal.

As she waited for her breakfast she watched Lauren smiling at Scooby's antics. She'd always liked this cartoon, too, with Velma being her favorite human character, and Scooby her favorite non-human character, of course. She remembered how Ryan used to call her Velma when she was launching into, what he called, one of her "_geek-a-fied_ lectures." A pang went through her as she thought about her brother and if she'd ever go back to the world where they were siblings despite the lack of blood connection.

Lauren's bark of laughter cut into those ruminations, bringing her back into this reality. She wondered exactly how many Saturday morning cartoon sessions with this sibling, the one she _was_ blood connected to, she had missed.

'Dad2' came back into the room with the wicker tray holding a big bowl of steaming oatmeal and bottle of Agave syrup, exactly how she took it at home. There was also a big mug of coffee, a small bottle of water, and the bottle of prescription painkillers from the hospital. He settled it down over Mac, and then kissed her forehead.

"Thanks dad,"

"You're welcome, Madi. I'll be right back with my own breakfast, and we'll all have a picnic in front of Scooby. Don't tell your mom," he replied, winking conspiratorially.

He turned back towards the kitchen, saying something to whomever was working in there, Mac presumed it was the maid, Lucille, or Lucy as Lauren called her.

Mac immediately took two pills from the bottle, swallowing them down gratefully with the water. She hoped they would kick in soon.

The show faded to commercial and Lauren leaned forward to put her now-empty cereal bowl on the table in front of her. Then she turned to Mac.

"You feeling any better today?" she asked.

"Much," Mac lied, not wanting to dash the hopeful expression on Lauren's face. She waited a beat then inquired about why eating in the family room was to be kept from 'Mom2'.

Lauren looked at her in disbelief for a moment then shrugged. "Mom is anal about this couch, actually any and all couches. You are only allowed to eat in here because you're injured and mom feels guilty, and two, because you're eating on a tray."

"Oh, yeah," Mac covered. "I thought it was just because I'm almost 17, practically an adult." It was a strange sentence to say being that she was actually 21. Again she felt like an extra who was just asked to cover the starring role in an unfamiliar play.

Cue the soundtrack to the _Twilight Zone. _

"Well, dad's an adult, too," Lauren started to say, and then smiled impishly as she added, "_adult-ish._ He's not allowed to eat in here either, like ever."

Mac raised her eyebrow, but swallowed the snark that rose up. She covertly looked for the velvet rope around the couch cordoning it off. You couldn't get a more anti-Mackenzie philosophy—in that world, couches were for sitting, eating, entertaining, mess happened and it could always be cleaned up. Casa de Mackenzie was not a museum, like the Sinclair palace evidently was.

"What about you? You're eating in here, too, and I don't see you using a tray."

"Mom is out right now, and dad is unlikely to narc on me, especially since he's now just as culpable. Plus, I'm a rebel like that."

Mac smiled at that, she didn't see Lauren as particularly rebellious. "Aren't you 10? Isn't that a little young to be a rebel?"

A flash of hurt crossed Lauren's face; it was quick, but definitely there.

"I'm 11, almost 12. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah…" Mac said softly, her voice trailing off. Lauren was only about a year older than Ryan. She wanted to touch her bandage again, but thought maybe she was hiding too much behind that, though it was plausible and it would have hurt Lauren less. She did pretty much have Lauren's life history—the black and white, computer screen version, at least—committed to memory. However, the back and forth, past and present merge was complicating matters a bit more than Mac's injured brain could process. Maybe she was right to lay some blame on the head wound.

"You usually cover your rebelliousness pretty well," Lauren relented.

Mac looked confused, she didn't think she was particularly rebellious, but she did grab a chunk of her hair.

"Yes, that's part of it," Lauren acquiesced. "Then, there was that time…"

Her voice trailed off though when their dad came back with his own bowl of Lucky Charms and big mug of coffee which was evidently heavy on the cream, light on coffee, which was eerily similar to how she usually preferred her coffee, in the old dimension at least. _Genes_!

"So, what did I miss?"

"Scooby just ate some Scooby snacks," Mac summarized what she believed to be the main point of the episode.

"They're hot on the trail of the swamp monster, but when you gotta eat, you…" Lauren started.

"Gotta eat," their dad ('Dad2') finished.

Mac looked down at her hands in her lap. Seeing her bio dad and bio sister together, their easy, jokey way reminded her for only the zillionth time, give or take, that though she belonged here, she didn't really belong here either_. It was as simple as that; it was as complicated as that._

Her pity-party was brought to an abrupt halt when she noticed a streak of purple on her hand. She furrowed her brow, trying to think about where it could have come from. Then she remembered running her hand through her hair just before 'Dad2' came back into the room. It was weird; she'd always used a more permanent dye, at least in her old life. She absently rubbed her marked hand on her fuzzy pajama bottoms; it faded the splash of color, but didn't make it disappear altogether. She suspected perhaps her individuality was just a part time occupation in this life.

The Scooby-Doo marathon continued as the three _Sinclairs _ate their breakfast and laughed at the goofy cartoon dog's antics. After awhile 'Dad2' decided that the rule-bending had gone on long enough, so he gathered up the evidence to hand over to Lucille. It was obvious to Mac who ruled this roost. The balance of power laid at Natalie's feet, too, in the Mackenzie house, but in a much more subtle way than it appeared to be in this house.

Eventually the pain pills and the remnants of the concussion caught up to her, and she drifted off to sleep as Scooby Doo once again lobbied for a treat. She had a strange Technicolor dream where she was Velma and Veronica was Daphne, and a dog that looked a lot like Backup played Scooby's role. They were trying to find a wrinkle in time, but she woke up before any headway was made. It was unsettling.

She found herself still on the couch, with the blanket from last night draped over her. 'Mom2' was sitting in a chair working on a cross-stitch.

Scooby-Doo was evidently over, because she recognized _The Breakfast Club. _The channel 'Mom2' had selected was in the middle of a John Hughes retrospective.

Her head was back to its default achy stage.

On screen, the token misfit, known as the Basket Case, was receiving her required make-over—because _hell_ how could the boy like her otherwise?—Mac just watched, trying not to move her head too much, in hopes that would make the pain more manageable.

'Mom2' looked up from her craft project and saw Mac was awake.

"Hi, sweetie, I'm glad to see you're awake now. I got back from my shift at the food pantry and you were fast asleep. That's good; you need all the sleep you can get now. Your dad and Lauren are running their Saturday errands. I think he was depressed when you got too old to want to join him, so he's pretty happy Lauren is taking over that tradition now."

She found herself feeling guilty for something that wasn't _really_ her fault—not in her _real_ life, at any rate.

"Oh, and before I forget, Dick called."

"Dick?"

"Casablancas," 'Mom2' clarified, evidently thinking she was confused as to which Dick had called, rather than her real question, which was _why_?

Mac was fairly certain he was the only Dick in the entire school, and in high school, at least, he was pretty aptly named, too. He certainly wasn't the only _dick_ at Neptune High, but he was the only _dick_ named Dick. She'd always wondered if he'd perhaps felt the unconscious pull to live up to his nickname or maybe that was what made him dick-like to begin with. Looking up she caught the brief flash of worry on her mom's face, it was short lived.

"Are you hungry?"

"Oh. A little I guess," Mac said. She became aware of hunger pangs starting to build. Breakfast must have been hours ago, which made her wonder how long she had been asleep.

"Can I make you a sandwich or some soup?"

"You?"

"Yes, me. Lucille is off on Saturday afternoons and Wednesday nights, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, I never remember her schedule, I barely remember my own. Soup sounds good, thanks."

"No problem, sweetie. We still have some of the veggie stew leftover from last night. I'll warm some up."

"What about you?"

"I already ate. Besides we don't usually eat on the couch, as you well know. I'll sit with you though."

As 'Mom2' left the room to warm up her lunch, Mac slowly sat up, inching slowly hoping it would keep the pain from ratcheting up too much, it was one of those things that sounded good on paper but didn't work in reality. She clinched her eyes against the pain, trying to focus in on the ending of the movie where the _Brain_, Brian says in voice over "_…but we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us - in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions…"_

As _Simple Minds_ played the theme song and the credits rolled, 'Mom2' came in with the white wicker tray laden down with a big bowl of the soup, a couple of rolls, the bottle of pills and a bottle of _designer_ spring water. The sharp pain caused by moving, had receded a bit. Now it was back to that steady ache that was her new, hopefully temporary, default setting nowadays. 'Mom2' placed the tray over her lap, and then got to work opening the pill and water bottles, before going back to the chair she'd previously occupied.

Mac had a painkiller _appetizer_ before tucking into the still steaming soup.

'Mom2' went back to her cross stitch while Mac ate and watched the opening credits of the next John Hughes movie, _Sixteen Candles_.

She had just finished her lunch and was just staring at the screen, watching Sam getting kicked out of her own room by one of her grandparents, when the phone rang. She saw her mom reach for it and answer it, instead of checking _caller id_, which Mac was certain they had to have in the Sinclair abode.

"Hello," 'Mom2' replied. She waited a beat while the voice on the other end said something.

"Oh, yes, Dick…I did tell her, dear…" 'mom2' replied again, still addressing the caller. Then she turned her focus to Mac. "Madi, sweetie…" she began.

Mac started to shake her head, but pain put a quick halt to that bad idea, and she waved her hands back and forth in front of her face, in an X criss-crossing type motion.

Her mom ('Mom2') got the message. "Dick, I'm sorry, but she just fell back asleep…I know, you're right, she is napping a lot, but she has a concussion…I promise, I'll tell her you called. Bye dear."

She firmly hung up the phone, and then looked back at Mac again. "Madi, sweetie, did you two have a fight?"

"Not that I can remember," Mac said honestly. "I just don't feel like talking to him now." Or ever, she added to herself. High school edition of Dick Casablancas was one _do-over_ she wasn't interested in. However, there seemed to be some type of relationship there, the reunion would probably be inevitable but she'd push it off as long as possible. She was just barely beginning to like Dick in her old, Mac existence. Make that, tolerate. They had been building a pseudo-friendship lately, especially when his fifteen minutes of humanity made their appearance, which had been happening with more frequency lately, she admitted reluctantly.

The rest of Saturday afternoon into the evening passed in much the same way. She would have periods of wakefulness where she would watch bits and pieces of John Hughes movies in between the pain pills, which would then make her very sleepy, so she'd go back to napping. However, in spite of the increased sleepiness, the pills also kept the pain down to a very tolerable background ache, so she gladly paid that price.

The rotation of _baby-sitters_ varied, but the pattern was firmly established.

After a dinner of some kind of mushroom casserole, her dad escorted her upstairs to her bedroom.

He helped her into the large bed, and snugly covered her up with the purple sparkles duvet and gave her a kiss on her forehead, once again not getting close to her injury. On his way out the door, he turned off the light and whispered that he loved her. It was reminiscent of her younger days, and how her own dad, well, Sam, the dad that raised her, would tuck her in.

Was there a Universal script parents used?

Once again it occurred to her that she didn't know the name of her own dad, _this_ dad, bio dad. She drifted off to sleep with that thought circling around her thoughts.

When Mac woke up around 10:30 AM Sunday, she didn't entertain the same hope of magically reappearing in her old, non-Madison/Madi life. There was no jolt when she opened her eyes and saw the, now familiar, purple walls.

Mac eventually mustered the energy to make the longish trek downstairs to the family room, though she was still wearing those same fuzzy pink kitten pj's, she didn't feel the need to change those.

She was surprised 'Mom2's' precious couch didn't retain her butt impression. Once again a breakfast of oatmeal, coffee, and pain pills was brought to her, this time by a lady she assumed was Lucille. She was an older lady, probably north of 55, with curly black hair with silver starting to weave in there as well, with brown eyes and crow's feet which bespoke of a life full of smiles and humor.

"Just the way you like it, doll," she said as she nestled it on Mac's lap. "Your parents and Lauren are at church now. They didn't want to wake you."

"Thanks, Lucille."

"You're welcome, Doll. Ring if you need me."

At Mac's blank expression, she pointed to the small bell that was on the edge of the tray. She hadn't seen that earlier.

"Oh, sure, um thanks."

It was still an odd thought having someone paid to wait on her, at least on a regular, full-time basis. However, the funny thing was that it wasn't even near the top of her ever-growing weird list.

She took more pain pills and drifted off to sleep about thirty minutes later. Her Sunday was evidently shaping up to be a repeat of Saturday.

When she woke up, Mac saw Lauren sitting on the far end of the couch, watching more cartoons, this time the classic _Tom & Jerry_.

"Hey," she croaked out.

"Madi, you're up! You sleep more than Fritz."

"Fritz?"

"Um, your cat, remember? Well, the family cat, but he likes you more than the rest of us."

"Where is he now?" Mac asked.

"Who knows? He goes into hiding quite a bit."

They had a cat. She didn't remember seeing the furry Sinclair around, though she hadn't been anywhere in the massive house other than her bedroom and the couch and back again. There was still a lot of territory left to explore, and lots of choice places for a cat to nap.

*****/****/*****/*****/*****/*****

By late Sunday afternoon, however, after one more nap cycle she was feeling a bit better, and found enough of an energy peak to wander around her "new" home.

Her parents had a golf game/business meeting at the frou-frou Neptune Country Club and Lauren had a play-date at her friend's house across the street. Though she got yelled at for daring to call it a play-date; after all, _almost_ twelve year olds don't "play."

Her mission was two-fold, find the _MIA_ cat, Fritz, and discover the first name of 'Dad2.' Although, she was hoping to find out more than just those two details about her new existence, after all, she couldn't hide behind the head injury forever. Could she?

Lucille was the only other one at the house, and she was back in her private bedroom suite off the mud room. Dinner was simmering on the stove.

She started with the two rooms she'd already seen the first time she visited the Sinclair estate, the library and dining room flanking the Spanish tiled entry way. Mac just circled the massive dining table with seating for twelve plus the four extra chairs strategically placed in each corner of the room waiting to be called up for a sixteen person dinner party. She didn't think the Mackenzies even knew that many people, let alone would entertain them for dinner, but of course they didn't have kitchen staff to do the dirty work for them. Being chairman of the board for whatever company probably meant the Sinclairs did a lot of entertaining of clients and other important business types.

She didn't see much of interest in the dining room, except 'Mom2' had an extensive collection of china in her massive curio cabinet. There was also a collection of Hummel figurines, which Mac didn't know much about Antiques outside of occasionally watching of _Antique Roadshow_, but she knew they were probably worth a small fortune. Outside of the investment potential, she didn't see the appeal of the little porcelain figures.

The only other thing of note in there was the huge wine rack, it was probably four feet high and four feet in length and, by conservative estimate, must have held over fifty bottles of wine. She pulled a couple bottles out, but hadn't heard of most of the brands. She wondered if this was the entire collection, or if they had a wine cellar on premises, too. Mac suspected that their collection didn't include any of the green _Gallo_ jugs of Chardonnay that Natalie was always buying.

Next on the tour was the library which also housed a large oak desk that most likely belonged to Mr. Sinclair, 'Dad2.' It sat at the far end of the long, narrow room, opposite of the stone fireplace with two upholstered chairs in front of it for a cozy reading nook.

Mac's mind flashed back, briefly, to the first time she'd even known of Lauren's existence. It was in this very room, five years ago—the _original_ 2004—that they first met. The hardest thing she had ever done in her life was make small talk with Lauren without giving away the fact that they were blood sisters. She relied on acting chops she hadn't even known she'd possessed.

A startled mewing sound brought her out of her reverie.

Curled up on one of the chairs by the fireplace, the one Lauren had occupied that fateful night in fact, was a short haired black and white cat. Mac suspected the furry Sinclair—Fritz—was well-aware of Ellen's stance against messing up furniture and was probably counting on not getting busted.

"It's okay Fritzy, I won't tattle on you," she cooed, slowly coming towards the cat, who now was intently tracking Mac's every move. "Your secret is safe with me."

She reached down to pet him and suddenly drew back her hand when he hissed. The fur was bristled and he got up on all four legs holding himself corpse stiff, his back arched.

Mac backed away still cooing softly. "It's okay; I don't get this whole situation either. We'll try our introduction later."

The cat ran from the room as she headed toward the desk. She sat down in the black leather roller executive chair and opened the center drawer first. It was mainly filled with pens, hi-lighters, a lifetime supply of neon colored sticky pads, a ball of rubber bands (probably Lauren's handiwork), a chain of paper clips, and other assorted office bric-a-brac. The only thing of interest there was a key she found tucked into an envelope and folded over. She removed it from its hiding place and set to work finding out if any of the six remaining drawers on the desk were locked.

She opened the top left one; it didn't have much there, just a few empty file folders and a note pad. The middle left drawer had a stapler, which she was amused to see had a sticky note on the bottom of it with all his important passwords. She grinned and shook her head. _Would that generation ever learn? _Maybe her hacker tendencies came from Mama Sinclair's branch of the family tree.

The bottom left-hand drawer was unlocked, but it did contain a bunch of files organized by dates that really didn't mean much to her. She looked in a couple of them, but they mainly seemed to be related to the company he ran, which turned out to be named _Sinclair Enterprises_. She had never heard of them before, the company bearing the last name that should have been hers by birth and not just some cosmic accident.

The right-hand set of drawers yielded much more interesting results. The first two of those drawers again didn't contain much of interest, but the bottom file drawer, on the other hand, was locked.

_Eureka_, Mac thought as she tried the key. It worked.

The first couple hanging file folders contained tax and financial information for _Sinclair Enterprises_, things that evidently were not for public knowledge. She briefly skimmed that info, not finding much of personal interest, except that the company seemed sound, and was worth nearly 75 million, which was a huge number even for her math-oriented brain. There were an awful lot of zero's there.

However, it was the next folder that intrigued her the most. It was labeled _Settlement._

Interesting! She had assumed the baby switch had never occurred in this alternative existence. Mac placed the file up on the desk and opened it up. It was a stapled document containing the foreign—_to her_—language of legalese.

Skimming it over, she saw her name listed as a plaintiff and the name of Robert Allen Sinclair, 'Dad2's' name. It was dated 1992 and was for one million dollars; however there was no mention of Neptune Memorial Hospital. She was just in the middle of turning the page, however, to see if she could find out more about the origins of this suit when she heard a rumbling sound off in the distance.

It sounded like the whir of a garage door, but being that this house was so much larger than she was used to, sound had further to travel. She quickly shoved things back, hopefully in a close approximation to where they belonged.

Mac was just exiting the library when her parents walked into the hall.

"Hey, sweetie, feeling better?" 'Mom2' asked, with concern.

"Much," Mac assured her. "Just decided to read a bit," she blushed as she said it, mentally chiding herself for not grabbing a book off the shelf to complete the cover story. She hoped she hid the evidence well-enough. She just needed to find more private time to continue the sleuthing, there were mysteries left to solve in this world.

**_TBC…_**

**_***Seems as good of a place to end it as any. Next up, is Dick's POV, so you can find out more about Mac's condition in 2009. Then, after that, Mac goes back to school. If you liked it, or didn't, please let me know in that lovely review box down there. Thank you!_**


	5. Chapter 5--The Waiting Game

**_A/N: Here's a "present" chapter, it's in Dick's POV, and he's covering what is happening to Mac in 2009 in the aftermath of the accident, as she struggles to survive in this life. It takes place at Neptune Memorial Hospital. When I write Dick he has a bit of a potty mouth under the best of circumstances, considering he's grieving on the anniversary of his brother's death & now he's worried about Mac, too, well this isn't best circumstance by any means. So yeah, potty mouth. Thank you to my wonderful (& patient) beta-cainc3! Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, favorites, please keep them up, as you can see, it does motivate me to post faster. Chapter 6 will be another Mac-in-2004 chapter-her first day back in high school. Enjoy!_**

**_Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own anything in the vast VM 'verse, that honor is all on RT's doorstep, but I do have fun playing in it. I also did a little research into head injuries, but I may have taken some liberties as well. I hope there aren't any real glaring errors though. I am not a medical expert!  
_**

**_Chapter 5—The Waiting Game_**

**_Dick's POV—June 6_****_th_****_, 2009_**

The minutes were ticking by and Dick was still sitting in a hard-ass, uncomfortable, stained, green chair starring at the same fucking institutional white walls of the Neptune Memorial ER. Not really the place he'd expected to spend the 3rd anniversary of his brother's death.

But hey, why the hell not! Maybe it was fitting…

Mac, or "Cindy" as the worried people around him kept calling her, was in room number 5 being frantically worked on, poked, prodded and generally assaulted all in the hope of saving her life.

So far, other than himself of course, the only people awaiting word on "Cindy Mackenzie" were her brother, and her mom. Mrs. Mac must have broke her own speed records because she'd come running (literally) into the tight spaced waiting room—it was closer to the size of a _closet_—less than five minutes after he and Ryan.

He had watched her grab her younger child and squeeze him so tight he expected to see steam leaking out his ears. He kept expecting to see Ryan deflate. He wondered if maybe he should avert his eyes from the reunion, but was unable to stop himself from watching. _So, that's what families that love each other look like. _Yeah, he was a little short on functional role models these days.

Finally, she let go of her death grip on Ryan, and turned her tear-blurry, blood-shot eyes his way. "So, you're "the dude" who goes to school with Cindy that brought Ryan to the ER? Thank you." She was directly quoting the call she'd received from her son as they were on their way to the hospital, trailing the ambulance, complete with air quotes and everything.

"You're welcome," he replied back…to the floor, where his scuffed white shoe was tracing lines on the antiseptic-smelling, so bright-it-was-shiny linoleum.

"Ryan, and, um _dude_, I'll get your real name later, stay here. I'm going to find out what's going on." Mrs. Mac said. She pressed Ryan down into one of the threadbare green upholstered chairs lining one of the stark white walls of the under decorated waiting room.

There was one chair separating him and Ryan.

He watched Mac's mom, tall, blonde and basically the anti-Mac, make her way slowly toward the main desk. It was probably no more than 15 feet away, but with her shuffling walk, it seemed as though the distance could've been measured in miles.

He watched her finally reach her destination and hesitate for a moment—or three—before looking skyward, as though she were praying, then she faced the charge nurse and said something to get her attention.

As he watched her mom, Dick realized he had no clue if Mac was religious or not. Somehow he didn't think she was much of a church go'er, but that didn't really mean anything about her religious views. He wondered about her thoughts on death—did she believe in the concept of Heaven and/or Hell? Okay, yeah it was a pretty macabre topic, especially for what she was currently being put through right now, but then again it was a good theme considering what calendar day it was, the environment was certainly right for this kind of thought circuit. If you couldn't wax philosophic and existential and shit here of all places, where the frak could you?!

He couldn't hear much of the conversation. A glance over at Ryan told him that he was trying to listen in, too, and he didn't seem to be any more successful in the spying arts, either. Dick turned his attention back to Mrs. Mac. She wasn't speaking loudly but she was pointing and gesturing quite a bit.

"Do you think Cindy will be okay?" Ryan's shaky voice cut into Dick's eavesdropping.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say yes. He wanted to say yes, for Ryan, for himself, for Mac, for everyone in the whole stupid world, but he couldn't get that simple 3-letter word out. He didn't want, nor did he need platitudes after Cass had died, he didn't need lies like _your brother is in Heaven now_, he knew that was one place Cassidy would not be spending his eternity. Even with his limited knowledge, Dick was certain that no one with the laundry list of crimes his baby bro committed would be earning wings, a halo, a golden harp, and peace loving doves, shit like that. Nope, there wasn't air conditioning in Cassidy's new eternal address. It wasn't exactly a comforting thought, but he wasn't entirely sure he deserved comforting thoughts, not about this at least. Comforting thoughts didn't magically put humpty dumpty back on that big brick wall. False hope just made the inevitable fall that much harder in the long run.

He settled for being honest with the little dude.

"I hope so, Ryan, I really hope so. I think the fact that she got here quickly is a good sign, but it's out of our hands now."

Mid-reassurance Mrs. Mac came back, slumping down in the empty seat between them. He swore he smelled flowers, he figured it was probably some kind of perfume or something older women liked to practically bathe in. It was actually a fresh, clean fragrance though, not cloying at all.

"The team of doctors is working on her now. We need to just sit tight, and they'll come to us with a report very soon," she said without preamble. She grabbed her son's hand. "Tight. I don't even know what sitting tight actually means. Sit tight, as opposed to what, sit loose?"

Dick watched Ryan wince at his mom's grip. Maybe that's where Mackie got her scrappiness.

"A team?" Dick asked.

"That's what they said, a **_team _**of doctors. Honestly, I don't know whether it worries me more, or worries me less, that they have several people working hard at keeping her…" Mrs. Mac stopped, and swallowed. She took her hand back from Ryan and proceeded to bury her head in her hands. She didn't cry though. Dick thought maybe she'd cried herself out on the way over. He hadn't ever believed anyone could cry so much and so hard that they wouldn't have any tears left. It seemed like something they made up for chick flicks, a fictional concept kind of like that giant bunny who hops around delivering baskets of candy without sampling the goods and pooping everywhere! Then Cassidy died, and he cried himself out of tears plenty of times, more than he wanted to quantify really. It also could have been that she didn't want to cry around Ryan, which was equally plausible.

"Your name," she said suddenly, taking her face out of her hands. She turned towards Dick. "I know it's not 'the dude who goes to school with Cindy.'"

"It's Dick," he said. He'd considered telling her Richard, but it wasn't a cotillion, he didn't have to go all formal. "You can stick to 'the dude,' though, if you want."

"No, Dick is fine. I'm Cindy's mom, by the way. I'm sure you figured that out on your own. You can call me Nat. It's nice to meet her friends, but this was not how I ever thought…" Her voice trailed off again. It was doing that a lot.

"Ditto," Dick confessed.

She studied him a minute and he knew the exact second she figured out who he was. It was a quick shift of pity, from self-pity and fear for her daughter, to pity for him, of her knowledge of what today was. It was brief, that soft-mom look he wasn't used to being on the receiving end of, but he knew he didn't imagine it.

"You're Dick Casablancas, right? Cindy's mentioned you a few times; she worries about Logan, since Veronica left. She gets lonely; she's never really had but a couple close friends." She waited a beat, and then continued. "Unlike me, I always had a bunch of friends growing up. I went to Pan, in next town over. Though while I had a quantity of friends, well, Cin has quality friends, which truthfully I suspect might be the better plan." Reaching over, Nat grabbed Dick's hand and squeezed it. "This is just a crap day for you, isn't it?"

He nodded once, and looked down at her hand, still holding his but didn't make a move to snatch it away. They probably both needed that connection now.

She didn't make him feel like the brother of a murderer, instead she treated him like someone who had lost someone close to him, nothing more or less than that. It was nice; he didn't get that from very many people. Sometimes he wasn't sure he deserved that.

It was definitely still an _on the hook_ kind of day.

Nat's eyes filled with tears; apparently she was still cooking up an endless supply. Dick could see that she was realizing-for probably the three hundredth time-that the possibility of losing her daughter was there, it wasn't a gray hypothetical concept but rather a three-dimensional entity.

After Mac's mom sat down, he watched the endless parade of both injured people waiting for their turn in the exam room and also those other suckers like him, nervously awaiting progress reports on family members. He watched them make that same slow shuffle walk of doom over to the main desk. He made a guessing game out of who got good news and who was still stuck in the same type of purgatory he and the Mackenzie's were. There wasn't much skill involved in that _game_ though, he could usually figure which category the relatives fit into by how they walked back to their seats, if they repeated the same slow step it usually meant they were retreating with bad news or worse maybe, no news.

During a brief lull in the wave of concerned relatives and victims of bad luck accidents, Dick tracked the movements of a big, muscular guy probably in his thirties with a purple satin uniform jacket with just the letters SE in silver embroidered on the back. They were weaved together forming some kind of company logo. It seemed familiar but he couldn't remember where he'd seen the logo before, maybe through his dad's business dealings. Dick continued to watch as the man approached the desk, saying something to the charge nurse, who replied back in what seemed like a flirty manner. Then she pointed in the vague direction of the double doors leading to the exam rooms beyond. Dick assumed he was a workman of some sort, perhaps a delivery guy.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Mrs. Mac look up at the clock on the wall. His eyes tracked that direction, too; it was coming up on 1:30 PM.

This waiting game seemed to be dragging on and on…

"Where the hell is your dad?" Nat muttered to her son upon seeing how many minutes and seconds had already ticked by.

"On his way, I'm sure." Ryan didn't sound sure though.

Just then Mac's dad walked through the main entrance of the ER, at the exact same time a guy dressed in blue scrub "pajamas," as Dick always thought of them as, approached from the bowels of the ER.

The guy in scrubs stood there for a second, scanning the crowd. "Family of Cindy Mackenzie," he called out in a booming voice, obviously well-versed at that part of his job description.

Mac's dad practically ran across the rest of the wide room to join her mom. He grabbed her hand squeezing it as he pulled her up from the chair where she had been sitting. He gulped, and then called out in a loud voice, "That's us."

Dick was close enough to hear Mr. Mac's slight wheezing as he struggled to catch his breath, both from the exertion of getting there and the fear of what he was about to hear.

The doctor came up to their group. Dick stood up, as did Ryan.

"I'm Dr. Grimm, one of the neurologists assigned to your, um daughter's, case." He said the word daughter as a question.

Dick hoped the name wasn't a sign of doom.

Mac's mom nodded in the affirmative, and then he continued. "We're still running tests, so I don't have much to report right now. She was unconscious when they brought her in, and that status hasn't changed. Head injuries are always concerning; however, some locations carry better outcomes than others." Dr Grimm paused, and blinked.

It was only a matter of seconds before he continued speaking, but felt much longer than that to Dick.

"Your daughter, ah Cindy," he paused again to look at the chart briefly, and then back again at her family. "She was hit on the side of her head, near the temple. A little further to the left, well, I wouldn't have any hope for you, at all."

Dick dropped his head. He heard Nat's strangled sound, somewhere between a groan and a sob, but he didn't (couldn't) look at her. Mac's dad gasped, as well, or at least he assumed the deeper masculine sound was from her dad rather than brother. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the ground; suddenly he found that shiny, over polished floor fascinating, especially the checker board pattern it made.

He couldn't look at anyone else's pain, it was a full-time job just dealing with his own.

"However, like I said, the center of the impact is worrisome, her outcome is far from guaranteed, but it is definitely not a hopeless case. At this point, at least. We are running more tests, so we'll know more in a couple of hours, but I'm confident she has a fighting chance. Is she a fighter?"

"Yes," everyone said in unison, Dick included. He might not have played a big role in her life until the past year and a half or so, but even he knew the answer to that question.

"Good, that's a very hopeful sign. Also, she's young, that's another positive thing. All we know is bleeding was detected on a scan, so we're going to investigate, gather more details. The more you know about your enemy, the easier time you have coming up with a battle plan." The doctor looked at Ryan when he said the last bit, as though sharing some gaming tips with him. "I'm going to get back there. We're admitting her to the ICU, but first we need to run more scans. You can go to the third floor, where the ICU is located, there's a waiting area there as well. Or you can go get some lunch first in the cafeteria, and then go wait there. I can have you paged, if necessary. I don't have a timeframe, but I like to be very thorough. Anyway, be warned, this will be a very long day and night for you all."

"When can we see her?" Sam asked in a broken sounding voice, barely above a whisper.

"She can have one visitor at a time when she's settled in a bed in the ICU. Immediate family only, and only those twelve years and older are permitted," Dr. Grimm said, sounding as though he were reading off of a script.

Dick saw Ryan scowl at the implication that he was still a child.

The doctor shook hands with all four of them, then he turned around and was once again swallowed up by the inner sanctum of the busy emergency room.

Dick chanced a glance back up at Mac's family. He watched her mom collapse into her dad's arms, and then they scooted over to include Ryan. He took a step back, to give them room to be a family, support each other, but also because he felt out of place.

Logan. He realized Logan didn't know what was going on and the desire to share this gnawing, biting fear of every unknown fucking variable boiled over in him. They could be outsiders together in this purgatory.

He turned around, and reached under the chair he'd just vacated (the one that still retained his butt impression) to grab his backpack he'd carelessly tossed there when he and Ryan first got to the emergency room. He dug around the detritus, first touching his vodka-ized water bottle, mentally, cataloging its location for later, before making contact with his phone. Pulling it out, he scrolled through the contacts until he found Logan's preset.

He was about to place the call when Mac's mom called out to him. The Mackenzie group hug had ended.

"Dick, we're all going to grab a quick lunch, then hang out in the 3rd floor waiting area. Please feel free to join us."

"Thanks, Mrs. Mac," he broke off at her mock glare. "Um, Nat. Thanks Nat. I thought I'd call Logan, and then I'll meet you at the cafeteria."

"Sounds good, hon. Tell Logan to get down here, Cindy needs all the well-wishers she can get," her voice caught, and a tear trailed down Nat's cheek but she pushed on. "The cafeteria is in the other wing, opposite the main reception area. I think. I usually make it a policy to avoid this place when I can." Dick saw a knowing glance pass between Sam and Natalie.

"I'll find it."

The Mackenzie's waved and then made their way out into the main part of the sprawling hospital complex.

Dick selected Logan's preset on his cell and listened to it ring. When he was about to give up and hang up before the voice mail could kick on, Logan finally answered.

"What?"

"Nice phone manners, dude. I should send you to Martha Stewart Finishing School."

"I was napping."

"Oh, a sex dream about the girl in your Chem class, say no more, I get it, dude. I saw her rack." Dick said. "I'd let you get back to it, but I actually kind of have a reason for calling."

"Oh, shit, man. _Today!_ I know what today is, I didn't forget, I just, I'm not fully awake, or I wasn't at least. Name a place and I'll meet you there," Logan said, his words bunching together.

"No, this isn't about Cassidy. I'm okay," Dick began.

Logan made a guttural sound of disbelief when Dick assured him he was okay.

"Well, yeah, today sucks, with the whole Cassidy thing" Dick amended, "but I have bad news, that's wholly unrelated to what today is."

"Out with it, you're scaring me."

"Mac is in the hospital. She was hit in the head with a baseball at the park today," Dick paused, the emotions of the day catching up to him. He suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. He sucked in a deep breath that probably translated loud and clear over the phone. "It's bad, Logan, maybe real bad. Nobody knows shit right now. I saw it. We were both at the park, we didn't come together, but anyway, I was coming over to see her and…" His voice trailed off, he was pretty sure he couldn't complete that sentence.

Logan cut in. "Neptune Memorial?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?" Logan asked.

"I'm meeting her parents in the cafeteria, and then we'll be in the 3rd floor **ICU** waiting room."

There was an intake of breath at the mention of the **_ICU_**, then Logan said softly, "I'll meet you on the 3rd floor, and Dick, she'll be okay."

"You don't know that."

"No, I don't, but I have a very strong feeling about it."

After saying goodbye, Dick disconnected the call. He slung the backpack over one shoulder, and then turned around, winding his way through the labyrinth of hallways until he found the cafeteria. The lack of aesthetic from the emergency room continued on into the cafeteria, too. However, the decorator did try for a little color boost there with the brightly painted green walls which clashed with the gray utilitarian tile floors. However, the only clientele hospital cafeterias attracted were harried hospital staff on their lunch breaks and concerned friends and relatives of admitted patients, neither group tended to care that much about ambiance.

He spotted Mac's family at a table on the far side, by the bank of windows. He waved back at Nat, who had evidently been looking for him. Then he went through the food line, nothing looked particularly good, but he decided to chance the meatloaf special. Mac would have been making fun of him for that food choice, making faces and sharing stats about food poisoning that no one wanted to listen to while eating, or any other time really.

He tried hard not to think about what she was going through right now, all the tests they were running on her. How many shots she was getting, though at least she was unconscious, unaware of what was happening to her.

Grabbing a can of Mountain Dew, Dick took his tray over to the cashier and paid for the meal he didn't really want in the first place.

Weaving around the tables in the expansive room, Dick trekked his way to the Mackenzie's table. He plopped his tray down in front of the chair they left open for him, strategically located between Sam and Ryan, across from Nat. He faced the window, but there wasn't much of a view. It looked out into the parking lot, but away from the hustle of the main entrance.

Dick noticed Mac's dad had selected the meatloaf special, too, while Ryan and his mom both had some kind of stir fry, Mac was obviously the only non-meat eater in the family. No one talked much during the meal.

He suspected everyone was trying to make some kind of sense of what the doctor had just told them, but he couldn't begin to sort any of it into anything logical. It wasn't that he didn't understand the medical stuff, of course he did, and it wasn't like the doctor used big words or shit like that. Dick knew people thought he was the dumb brother; it was easier to live down to that than to live up to being the smart one. Mac was starting to see through the façade though, he was sure of it.

He noticed every thought he had lately centered on Mac, he had no clue when that had started. Maybe it was just born out of the fear he had for her right now, that icy fucking hand that wouldn't quit choking the life out of his heart. The gestation period had started the second the baseball headed right toward her. He figured that was something he'd be seeing in his dreams for many nights to come.

He was brought out of his reverie though when Ryan started rehashing things for his parents.

"I don't know dad," he was saying. "I just heard someone yelling her name, and then another person screamed that someone in the stands was hurt. I ran off the field, and saw that the person injured was Cindy. It was horrible, dad. She woke up briefly, but I don't know, it was just…"

"Weird," Dick cut in. "She was confused, she couldn't really talk. I saw the whole thing as it happened. I'm so sorry I let it happen." He willed himself not to cry like a baby around Mac's parents.

"What does that mean?" Nat inquired, cocking her head. "Let it happen? I don't know how you could have stopped it."

"Well, I wish I could have."

"Me, too, hon, but it was just an accident, a senseless thing. Blaming yourself is pointless. If I understand things correctly, you were on the other side of the stands, nowhere near her. If you are going to blame yourself for Cindy getting hurt, why don't you take blame for Global Warming, too?"

"Why the hell not?"

She reached over and grabbed his hand and gave it another gentle squeeze.

It occurred to Dick that Nat was spending a lot of time trying to make him feel better when she probably needed comforting more than anyone else. He returned the squeeze. Nat smiled warmly, but all he wanted in that moment was for Mac to be the one smiling at him, with that one dimple of hers showing prominently.

No one became a member of the clean plate club that meal, but Nat more than anyone had left most of her lunch untouched. He and Ryan gathered up all the trays and dirty dishes, depositing them in the trash cans and proper receptacles.

By the time they made it to the third floor waiting room Logan was already there.

He was sitting in a chair—the ones in this waiting room were blue, and much newer, and nicer than the ones downstairs—looking at a back issue of _Yachting Monthly_. Sensing their presence or perhaps hearing their subdued conversation, Logan looked up over his magazine and his eyes locked with Dick's. He carelessly tossed the magazine in the chair beside him and stood up.

Dick went over to Logan and was about to shake his hand when he was pulled into a hug. He admitted to himself just then how much he needed his best friend at that particular moment in time. Usually it hurt too much to be around Logan on June 6th, to be reminded that Logan was one of the last people to see Cass alive, but now, this day had gotten so much bigger in scope.

"I'm so glad to see you, man," Dick whispered.

"Mac's my friend, too," Logan replied back, breaking the embrace. He turned his focus on Mac's family who had gathered around him, too.

"Thanks for coming, Logan ," Nat said, giving him a hug, as well. "We need to fill this place up with Cindy's friends, let her know she's got people who care about her, who need her around."

Logan severed the embrace first, and then stepped back a little. He took a deep breath, as though to prepare himself for something. Dick was surprised at what came out of his mouth next, though he shouldn't have been, it was inevitable.

"Veronica. Has anyone called her up at Stanford to let her know about Mac?" Logan asked. He clinched his eyes shut, as though in pain.

"No! I didn't even think about it. I haven't really called anyone outside of Sam," Nat confessed, flustered. "She does need to know though. I have her number, but it's probably at home."

Before sinking into one of the nearby bank of chairs, Nat reached over and lightly brushed off the front of Dick's shirt; he watched as wood shavings rained down on the blue carpet below. He hadn't noticed them before; it was probably a leftover souvenir from the falling-down bleachers when he'd leaned over to tend to Mac before the paramedics arrived on scene.

Sam took the seat beside his wife. They held hands as the fear and anguish of the day caught up to them.

"It's in Cindy's phone," Ryan offered. "Oh, but I think I left her bag in Dick's car."

"You did," Dick affirmed. "I could run out and get it."

"Don't bother," Logan started.

"It's no trouble. Believe me, staying out of trouble with the Pixie Spy and the business end of her taser is no trouble at all."

"No, I mean I have her number in my phone," Logan quietly confessed.

"Oh," Dick said flatly. Translation: _Of course you do, dude!_

Logan retrieved his phone from a pocket of his khaki cargo shorts, and looked at it briefly before scrolling through the contacts looking for Veronica's number. Dick suspected he probably still had her cell number memorized but didn't want to reveal that secret.

Dick reached out to grab the phone, after how she ripped Logan's heart out and stepped on it two years ago, the least he could do was make the call for him now. However, Logan shook his head and stepped back, out of reach. .

There was silence at first, and then he heard Logan say softly, "Yes Veronica, it's really me." He waited a beat, then replied back, "I'm doing okay, how about you?" Logan ran the hand not gripping the phone through his hair as he listened to ex-girlfriend rambling on. At the next pause in conversation, he replied in with a sigh, "Neptune never changes, how is the weather in Stanford?"

Dick tapped his foot and rolled his eyes, impatient with the small talk. They could talk about the rain all they wanted later, right now the only thing that mattered was that a girl they all cared about was fighting for her life. He shot Logan a death glare, hoping to get the conversation moving along.

"Actually, I am calling for a reason," Logan finally said, rolling his eyes back at Dick. "Yeah, I know." Logan let out a bitter laugh at something Veronica said. "I'm just going to rip the band-aid off. Mac was hurt today; she was hit by a baseball." He winced at whatever Veronica was saying. "No, and we don't know much right now." Logan's shoulders drooped, and Dick watched him turn around, seeking a little privacy in the public venue. "I suspect she'll be here awhile. Are you coming, um home?" He cleared his throat.

Dick could hear the rise and fall of Veronica's voice but not what she was saying. He could feel her panic from across the miles though. It was the same underlying current everyone else was experiencing.

Logan finally said his good-byes and hung up. He turned around and faced Dick, announcing, "Well, Veronica is on her way. She'll be here tonight, tomorrow at the latest."

Dick reached out and gave Logan a pat on the shoulder. "You okay?"

"Sure," Logan blew out a breath. "I have to be. This isn't about us; it's about her friendship with Mac."

Dick didn't contradict, but he was pretty sure his face broadcasted exactly what he thought about that statement. He took the empty seat on Nat's other side with Logan plopping down beside him. Ryan sat down next to his dad, and they all settled in to wait for the results of the current battery of tests, and for more drama to blow in from the North.

The endless waiting game continued.

**_TBC…_**

**_***Loved it? Hated it? M'eh? Inquiring minds-mine!-want to know. I'd love it if you put something in that lonely box down there. Thank you!_**


	6. Chapter 6--Driving Cadillacs

_**A/N: Another Mac chapter, her first day "back" in high school. This is by far the longest chapter (so far). This story is going to start earning it's "AU" classification as I start twisting episode plots and later on combining season 1 & 2 events, plus adding a lot of original stuff, too. Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows and favorites. I love hearing from you all! I hope you keep enjoying this story, as it's wicked-fun to write! As always, thank you so much to my beta-cainc3-for all her hardwork and great ideas for this "forever long" chapter! Enjoy!**_

_**Obligatory disclaimer-Nope, I don't own a darn thing in the Veronica Mars 'verse! Bummer...It's all on Rob Thomas and his gang!**_

**_Chapter 6—Driving Cadillac's in her dreams_**

During her freshman year at Hearst College, Mac would occasionally wake up in the dark, pre-dawn hours panicked at the thought that she'd forgotten to study for a Trig test for Mr. Myers, or turn in an English paper to Mrs. Murphy. Then, as her heartbeat slowly ticked back down to normal range, she'd realize high school was over, she was in college now. Of course that would cause another panic attack trying to remember if she was up on all her college course work, too, but the fear was less intense by then.

So, when Mac woke up, sweat raining down her face, in that space between Sunday night and Monday morning, she hoped her fears that she was ill-prepared for a test or perhaps a term paper were unfounded. Then, the strange space-time continuum existence she'd been dwelling in the past couple days caught up to her and instead of her heart-beat slowing down, it felt like it increased ten-fold. She was mere hours away from going back to Neptune High. That was one redux she'd never wanted.

She'd lobbied hard during their Sunday dinner—which was evidently a sacred Sinclair tradition—to get one more day of rest, but her mom ('Mom2') put the kibosh on that plan. 'Dad2' wasn't any help in that department, either, he seemed to live by the motto '_happy wife, happy home_.' Their argument, and by _their_ it was actually 'Mom2's' argument, was that the doctor only ordered a couple days of rest, and that's exactly what she got. She admitted defeat when 'Mom2' brought her **_A game_**—the first law of physics, _bodies at rest vs bodies in motion_, it was important for her healing that she fall into the motion side of things now.

Science was one master Mac always bowed down to.

After her early-morning/late-night freak out, she managed to fall back to sleep pretty quickly, catching another four hours until the shrill beeping of the alarm clock invaded her dreams of a time-traveling kitten that looked a lot like Fritz. She punched the off button, resisting the urge to send the offending alarm flying. She didn't like mornings in normal circumstances, and obviously the whole concept of reliving her high school days wasn't even in the same zip code as normal.

With a feeling of dread, Mac very reluctantly got out of bed, and walked slowly to the massive walk-in closet at the opposite end of her bedroom. She looked around the vast space that she hadn't really explored yet because a major chunk of her time was spent resting, recovering and trying to make some kind of sense of this new _normal_, but by now she was starting to accept that was an impossible feat.

There were a lot of pink and purple shirts, skirts, dresses and pants. It was a relief to see some less-colorful options sprinkled around as well. She selected a pair of black cotton pants; but as a concession she did pair it with a shimmery purple shirt and black ballet flats. She brought her school outfit in the bathroom with her and prepared to take a quick shower.

First though, Mac took off the white gauze bandage covering her stitches, and studied it in the mirror. It was the first time she'd really had a chance to study it, 'Mom2' had been playing nursemaid the whole weekend, changing her bandage, dotting ointment on, and generally keeping her on a tight pain pill schedule. The cut was tiny; there were only four stitches, she was happy to see it wasn't nearly as _Frankenstein_ looking as she'd feared, though it was a little red and puffy around the edges. Her discharge instructions had said she could remove the bandage and shower after forty-eight hours. In preparation she took off the pink fuzzy kitten pajamas that had been her weekend uniform, and turned on the water.

She was expecting the water to take awhile to heat up, like it did at the Mackenzie's house, but it was instantly hot. Looking around, Mac also noticed that there were four nozzles all strategically placed in different heights and locations of the Grecian tiled shower. Her entire closet growing up could easily fit in the shower stall with room to spare. The water beating down on her sore, stiff body felt fantastic. She adjusted her position slightly so one of the jets aimed for the small of her back, and angled her head so only her hair got wet, but not her cut. Idly, she wondered how many gallons the water heater handled.

Maybe she could hide in here all day? It would be an appalling waste of water, but perhaps a better alternative than reliving a time she had never labeled as her _glory days_.

As appealing as wasting time was, she knew she had to suck it up and get moving. Mac grabbed the expensive bottle of designer shampoo and lathered up. The water rained purple as the remains of her temporary dye washed out.

The hot water was showing no signs of running low when Mac reluctantly dragged ass out of the blissful shower and started the process of getting ready for school.

After putting on her clothes, Mac dried her hair with the hair dryer she found in one of the drawers. After it was fully dry she grabbed the tube of purple hair dye she'd found on her dryer quest. She painted on three prominent chunks of purple with the supplied wand; while it was drying she turned her focus to applying a thin layer of make-up. She was always a fan of the _natural look_ in real life, so she saw no reason to change that philosophy for this one. There wasn't a rule that '09'ers had to apply their make up with a garden trowel, was there?

Before heading downstairs, she took one last glance in the mirror to make sure the cut was obscured by her hair, it was.

When she reached the kitchen, there was a bowl of vegan-friendly cereal and the jug of soy milk already waiting for her on the table located in the connected sunroom.

As she was attempting to eat her breakfast over the lump in her throat, it occurred to her that once she got to school she had no idea where she needed to be. She banged her hand hard on the table**_. Frak!_**

Lucille looked up sharply from the island where she was stirring some kind of batter.

"Sorry," Mac muttered contritely.

"Is everything alright, doll?"She asked, in her lilting voice.

"Yeah," she replied back, unconvincingly. "My head hurts and I feel like I'm forgetting something. I feel like I'm not ready to get back into my _real_ life," she bit back the ironic smile that wanted to burst out. It was closer to honest than most of the other things that had come out of her mouth the past 48 hours, not that anyone but her could recognize the truth in that innocuous sentence.

"Oh, is that all?" Lucille replied, with gentle humor. "I can't help with the second part, but I can help with the headache." She stood on her tip-toes and grabbed a bottle of Ibuprofen from the cabinet above the sink. She brought the bottle and a small glass of water over to Mac, and set it down next to her cereal bowl.

"Thanks," Mac replied, gratefully palming two orange pills. Unfortunately, now that she was being unceremoniously shoved back into her new _real-world,_ the good drugs from the weekend were no longer an option; after all, she didn't want to be a zombie for school. She mentally snickered at that image.

Mac managed to force down a few more spoonfuls of cereal. A glance at the clock on the opposite wall let her know that it was time to stop stalling.

On her way out the door, 'Mom2' kissed her good-bye, and then handed her a $20 bill, explaining it was for lunch. She'd forgot all about the little '09'er habit of ordering take-out, because the thought of plebian cafeteria food like the '02'ers ingested was enough to make them purge. Back in high school (the first time) the most she ever got from her mom was $5, but mostly she _brown bagged_ it due to the lunch line's limited selection of vegan options. Her favorite part of bringing her lunch to school was the bag of homemade melt-in-your mouth vegan cinnamon spiced cookies that Natalie always seemed to have on hand.

Mac had her hand on the handle of the door that led to the garage when 'Mom2' hollered at her to grab one of the jackets on the hooks that lined the wall of the mud room. Biting her lip, but nodding, Mac reached over and grabbed the first coat she saw that seemed to be at least roughly her size. It was a purple satin jacket with the initials SE weaved together in silver embroidery, it seemed a bit too much like a bowling jacket for her taste, but she assumed it might have been related to the family business because she vaguely recalled seeing a similar logo in her fact-finding mission the previous evening. There were actually several identical coats on the rack, of varying sizes—everyone in the family seemed to own at least two of them.

She also saw two backpacks by the door hanging from another hook. She took an educated guess that bright pink backpack was Lauren's, while the purple one was hers. The set of keys in the front pocket lent further evidence that her assumption was probably correct.

She was going on purple overload.

Throwing one more wave at 'Mom2', she took a deep breath opened the door and went down the three steps that lead into the attached garage. She tried not to feel like she was going to an execution—_hers_. The third bay housed a bright red Cadillac CTS, it looked brand new. It was a definite upgrade from her first car, or even her second car, the much beloved Beetle convertible.

She got in the car and took a quick glance around the interior, trying to get familiar with the landscape. She felt like an imposter, like at any second she'd be arrested for committing fraud, which was absurd because that was a full 180 degrees from the actual truth—that she was the one who was meant to be Madison Sinclair version 1.0.

Mac raised the garage door and started the car. She slowly and carefully backed out of the long driveway, onto Shady Springs Ct.

Less than ten minutes later she pulled into the parking lot of Neptune High School. She suddenly felt body-slammed by a wicked case of déjà vu. However, the feeling faded quickly when she meandered around the driveway headed toward Parking Lot B, where the '09'ers tended to park. It was adjacent to lot A, the unofficial '02'er designation, where she used to park back in her real high school days. Rumor had it; there were more security cameras mounted in lot B than lot A. However, the main perk of B was that it was a lot closer to the back entrance.

She was right behind a car that looked achingly familiar. It was going slowly, already pushed beyond its limits as soon as the key was put in the ignition. The car in question was a cream colored 1970s relic that lost the classic moniker due to the fact it barely ran. Here she was driving a sporty Cadillac while the car she'd had when she first learned to drive was now being driven by someone that was not her.

Mac turned her blinker on and made the turn into lot B while the new _Cindy_ continued straight, towards lot A, her designated area. It caused a push-pull deep inside, relief that she was no longer driving that death-trap, but it was still strange having no associations to that piece of antiquated automotive engineering.

Finding a spot in the center of the vast lot, Mac parked. She felt like a _stranger in a strange land_ and figured why the hell not enjoy some of the '09'er perks while she could. She had to admit she loved the way the luxurious, fully-loaded Caddy handled the curves on the way over. She had a sudden longing to take off, play hooky and drive along the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) to see how that bad boy handled those curves along the twisty cliffs that carved out the coast.

With faux-bravado Mac grabbed her backpack and exited the car, using the key fob to lock it. As she traversed the short distance to the back entrance of Neptune High, Mac searched the lot for familiar faces.

One of the first things to catch her eye was a big yellow X-terra SUV—it was hard to miss. Its owner, Logan Echolls, was nowhere to be seen though. The second thing to catch her eye was the yellow Jeep parked next to Logan's SUV. She also knew exactly which rich asshole owned that ride as well—the guy whose calls she'd been dodging all weekend. Less than ten minutes into a day that didn't bear repeating anyway, she didn't think she was prepared to deal with the high school version of Dick Casablancas, not yet at any rate. Or, perhaps, ever.

The guy in question was leaning into his Jeep, presumably to grab his backpack. Mac walked by quickly, holding her breath, hoping he wouldn't spot her. She managed to make it into the building without anyone calling her name—Madison, that is. It was still hard to think of herself by that name, here or in any dimension really. She gritted her teeth as she crossed the threshold and lied to herself, saying it probably wouldn't be nearly as bad going back to high school as she feared.

_Bullshit_, she thought, even she didn't believe her own propaganda.

As soon as entered the white washed hallway of the high school she realized the first wrinkle in the whole plan—she didn't have the faintest idea where her homeroom was, nor any of her other classes. Then there was the locker issue. Yup, lots of flaws in this plan! She dodged classmates as she headed to the reception desk by the principal's office.

When she got there she saw the back of some tall, lanky guy bending over the open file cabinet drawer, taking something out, or maybe putting something else in.

Mac cleared her throat, and without even turning around the guy called out "Just a sec, then I'll be right with you."

She recognized the voice right away, with its perfect blend of snark and humor, though he wasn't being either of those things at the moment. She had always liked the timbre of his voice. They'd grown closer since Veronica left for Stanford; she'd actually poached several of Vee's leftovers.

"Thanks Wallace," she replied automatically. He slammed the drawer he'd been rifling though, and then turned around to look at her, surprised that she knew his name, evidently.

"Um, okay. So how can I help you, girl in my English Class?" He didn't seem to know her real name.

"I misplaced my schedule," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"That's not really something that tends to be necessary by November, or, you know, after two days," Wallace replied, raising his eyebrow. He was now leaning over the counter, tapping his fingers. "I can help you with seventh period though, Mrs. Murphy's American Lit class."

"Okay, well, now I just need to know the preceding six classes," she said, leaning it as though imparting a secret to him. "Some things are a little fuzzy since…Well, since my accident," She pointed to the cut on her head.

His eye's followed her finger and his gaze lingered on the cut. His eyes got wide. "Okay, I can print another copy for you. Do you need anything else?"

"Perhaps my locker combo? Thank you."

"No problem. I heard a cheerleader went down on Friday. I didn't know you were the cheerleader in question." Wallace replied. He went over to the computer terminal at the end of the counter, and asked her name, since he seemed to have been under the impression it was 'girl in my English class'. She told him and watched as he typed in a couple commands to retrieve the required information.

"I'm gossip for the rumor mill these days, huh? Yes, I'm guilty as charged. However, we prefer pep squad to cheerleader."

"See, you don't strike me as Pep Squad material," Wallace said as he focused in on her purple streaks. The printer made a whirring sound.

"Tell that to my mom, evidently the Ivy League likes a little pep in their students, it makes them well-rounded, besides I'm a pep-squader with a deep soul." Mac said, smirking.

"I thought that was an oxy-moron."

"Are you calling me a moron?" Mac teasingly asked. It felt _normal_ joking with Wallace. She needed normal.

"Touché," Wallace said, smiling back, showing his even, white teeth. He walked back over to the printer to retrieve the schedule and locker information, and handed it to Mac. "There you go, Madison."

"Thanks."

"No problem. I'm here sixth period, Monday through Friday if you need anything else. That's my usual shift; I guess you'd call it, though this is hardly a paying gig. Anyway, I'm just here now to finish up some filing for Ms. James."

"She must really trust you," Mac said. She knew Wallace made a lot of unsanctioned copies from student files during their high school years in a _Watson_ to Veronica's _Sherlock _type of capacity.

"She was unable to find anyone else to dump her work onto," he corrected.

Just then the warning bell rang, putting an abrupt end to Mac's reconnection with Wallace.

They waved, and headed off in different directions.

A glance at her schedule showed that Mrs. Murphy was her homeroom teacher as well as 7th period American Lit. Mac was kind of curious why it wasn't an AP class; there was a broad mix of AP and regular track classes on her schedule, maybe to give a boost to her grades in this dimension? Well, with the Sinclair net worth she wouldn't have had to bust her tail to be a scholarship kid-that had to take a load off.

She had just entered Mrs. Murphy's classroom when the final bell rang. She grabbed the first empty seat she saw, and slumped down. Who did she usually talk to? What did they talk about?

As those thoughts swirled through her head, she studied the other students in her homeroom and tried to listen in to their rumblings of conversation. Snatches here and there reached her ears. What really made her sit up and concentrate though was some guy, she didn't remember at all, talking with this kid named Adam who always reminded her of Fivel in _An American Tail_. They were swapping bragging rights on their test scores, but it was the score itself that caught her attention. She didn't think it was academic bragging. She hoped not, at least.

"69, dude, so beat that," the first guy said.

"63, so suck it," rodent boy replied back.

The only situation where a 63 beat a 69 that she could think of was the Purity Test, which was, bar none, her finest hour in her Mac life. It was the turning point where she realized that she had the ability to elevate her economic status by using her God given talents, it was a confidence builder to be sure. So what if her God given talents erred a bit on the gray side of things, sometimes the ends—a new car—justified the means.

"The purity test?" she was asking incredulously before she could stop herself. She felt her cheeks heat up. What possible motivation or need would she have had to circulate the Purity Test as a'09'er?

"Yes, that's right. It was sent to our email accounts last week," mouse boy responded. "What rock do you call home these days?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, weakly. "I remember it now."

"What did you get, Madison?" Some guy in the back row yelled out, she thought his name was Kevin Powell.

"I didn't take it," she said, shaking her head. She didn't need to, of course.

"I don't believe that for a nanosecond," a girl who Mac unfortunately remembered quite well, Pam, hollered from the back, where she was sitting next to Kevin. "Everyone took it."

Internally she groaned, maybe a little externally too, but Pam was one person she was looking forward to avoiding for life. As a '09'er, she honestly believed she was above rules set forth for everyone else, she deemed everyone else her inferior in every way.

"I bet she's just covering because she got a 39," a girl with long blonde hair sitting next to Pam hypothesized in a whiny voice. It was the girl who looked like rich airhead number 1 on "The Simple Life," it was eerie, they could be twins.

Pam laughed and leaned over the aisle to lightly punch the Airhead-doppelgänger on the arm. "Good one, Cait."

"I don't need a stupid test to tell me what percentage good girl I am, and what percentage wild woman," she retorted.

"Yep, definitely at 39," Pam reiterated.

"Like I said, I didn't take it," Mac repeated through gritted teeth. "If you don't believe me, why don't you buy my results?"

"You never did give us the address of your rock," Fivel's human counterpart called out. "The link to the storefront where you could buy other peoples' results was shut down ten hours after it went up."

"Hey, give her a break, she got hurt last week," some guy called out as he shut the door to the classroom.

Mac glanced over at her defender, and saw the newcomer in question was Dick Casablancas of all frakking people. She gave him a weak smile, and then turned her attention to her nails to avoid the probing gaze he was giving her. She was thankful to see that the chairs surrounding her were all taken.

"How nice of you to join us, Mr. Casablancas, there's a chair in the front row with your name on it," Mrs. Murphy said, and then pointed to a seat directly in front of her desk.

He smirked and flopped down in the chair the teacher pointed to, stretching his legs in front of him and crossing his arms. "We meet again. I can't help noticing how you invent these reasons to keep me close, I, for one, am flattered, I like a woman with experience, but see my girlfriend is the jealous type." It was just his patented brand of Casablancas cockiness. He turned around to look at her as he said it, though the statement was directed towards the teacher. What really pissed her off was the look of heat he flashed her when he said the last bit, and how his _undressing her with his eyes _expression made her tingle in places she didn't fucking want to tingle. It must just have been emotional inter-dimensional transference when she was dropped into this life, what else could it be? She definitely wasn't interested in Dick in her real life.

They were just pseudo friends who could occasionally have real conversations, ones that actually had substance. It didn't go beyond that, Mac was certain of that fact.

Mrs. Murphy started launching into the business of the day, including reading some boring memo straight from Principal Clemmons' desk; she made a point of mentioning that he was newly appointed to that position. Mac vaguely remembered the events that lead up to the leadership change from back in the day. She wasn't one to be sent to the principal's office so it didn't affect her all that much either way, save for occasionally fixing his computer, and going to AlternaProm with Butters, Mr. Clemmons' son.

Next, the teacher queued up the television for the school-wide announcements. Meg Manning was one of the anchors. Mac tried to hide the tears that blurred her vision. She wasn't close to Meg, but still, she was a sweet person that didn't deserve to die so young, though really who did deserve it? Sometime when her thoughts ran along that track one name came to mind, other times she didn't even think **_that _**person _deserved_ death.

Meg looked so alive—well, because she was in this plane of existence—reading off the audition dates for the fall musical. Her co-anchor covered sports scores and other Pirate going ons.

Five minutes later the bell rang and Mac quickly made her way out the door. She heard someone behind her calling out her name, but she tossed a vague wave over her shoulder and quickened her pace as she headed down the west corridor to her first period class.

Her first three periods were in the same classroom—it was a computer sciences class everyone had nicknamed _Future Hackers of America_. That now familiar feeling of _déjà vu_ stole over her again, this was the same class she had in the original 2004. Her love and respect for computers and the power they gave her was so embedded in her soul that it wasn't a shock that it would travel on her from one dimension to the other. For someone who felt largely powerless in her day-to-day life, it was nice to have one domain to rule over—life might not be her bitch, but computers certainly were.

She liked Mr. Matthews, he was in his late 20's and not yet totally-jaded by governmental regulations dictating how he ran his classroom. He had geeky good looks with wavy brown hair just beginning to creep backwards, and he wore black framed glasses, lending him a professorial air that was at odds with his laid-back, jokey ways of explaining hard concepts without _dumbing_ anything down.

He had always seemed so much older the first time around; of course she was so much younger then, too.

She was one of three girls in the class of fifteen. It was funny but with all the rapport she'd built up with these people, she hadn't thought about most of them in years. Her silvery lining thought that this was one facet of her new life that didn't require a script was quickly shattered though when Mr. Matthews asked her how the second report chronicling her teaching gig at the Senior Center was coming along. She vaguely remembered 'Mom2' mentioning something about those classes in the ER after the accident Friday, but since it didn't make sense to her at the time she had shoved it out of her mind. "Um, fine."

"Great. I want to see it on my desk Thursday by the end of the day."

The class around her started grumbling. Mr. Matthew's held up his hand like a traffic cop, everyone quit complaining. "I'm giving Madison a one day extension because of her injury; I figure she lost a day or two this weekend while she recovered."

"Thank you," Mac replied, feeling her cheeks heat up. She looked down at her desk, as she heard her classmates mutter about _Pirate Points_ and the whole _'09'er red carpet treatment_ bullshit. It wasn't anything different than what used to come out of her mouth when she saw the 'Richy Riches' getting treated white-gloved, while her corner of Neptune was given the picked-over crumbs. However, now, she was on the opposite side of the economic divide.

Everyone quickly got over the one little bit of inequity though, and the three hour class went by quickly. One of the best perks though, was that it was three blissful hours of not having to see Dick.

Soon enough though, the bell rang and it was time for fourth period.

AP Physics with Mr. Humphrey, she'd had Mr. Orr the first time around. She ignored the first half of the lecture on String Theory 101, but when the topic of dimensions came up she sat up and listened hard. However, by the time lunch came around she still didn't have an answer, concrete—or even theoretical—that would bring her that much closer to her old Mac-life.

She pushed through the crush of students in the hallway. Mac was just passing by the administration desk when a blonde woman sitting on one of the chairs set up near-by as a make-shift reception area caught her eye.

It was her mom, 'Mom1,' the one who raised her. She could have sworn she could smell lavender, that spicy sweet scent that clung to her mom. Natalie didn't look happy, anger evident in her expression and the tight set of her shoulders. Her legs were crossed.

Mac made her way to the support column just to the right of the offices, and leaned against it. She reached back to remove her backpack, retrieving her cell from its murky depths, and slung the pack back onto her shoulder. Mac held the phone up as though she were checking a text but not high enough to obscure her view. The crowd had thinned out, most people were now either in the cafeteria grabbing a meal or just taking their seat for their fifth period class.

Mr. Clemmons opened the door to his office, a tall blond girl standing beside him.

"Cindy," Mac heard him say sternly; "Sit back down in your chair. I'm going to bring your mom back inside. We are far from done here." Then he addressed her mom. "Mrs. Mackenzie, will you please join us?"

Mrs. Mackenzie—that's exactly who she was to Mac in this dimension; yet she could never just think of the woman who raised her, loved her, who held her during those blurry, catatonic post-Cassidy, post-Neptune Grand days, who always knew how to make her laugh and when to just let her cry it out—as Mrs. Mackenzie. Those arms that were supposed to comfort her were comforting Madison these days.

Natalie nodded and rose; she made her way inside the inner sanctum. The firm shutting of the door put an end to Mac's spying. If only she'd planted one of Veronica's bugs in that room!

Mentally, Mac plotted out a lunch strategy, skipping wasn't going to be an option being that her stomach was already stepping up its growling that had started near the end of her computer class. She figured she could grab a side salad from the cafeteria and find a spot near the stadium, as far from the quad as geographically possible. An open text book would scare people away from making small talk with her—hopefully. She didn't want to be around anyone else. She had always wanted to know what walking in Madison Sinclair's $550 _Manolo Blahnik's_ would be like, but she'd never examined the fine print, the one that said the cost was losing ties to the Mackenzies. She'd never stopped to truly grasp the idea of Madison wearing her scuffy black _Doc Martens_, which she'd got on sale, a year ago, for $19.99, either. There was a give and take for both of them.

Shoulders hunched in, feeling dejected and wishing for an invisibility cloak; Mac weaved her way over to the cafeteria to grab a salad and a Coke. She paid for her purchases, and then pushed open the double doors leading out into the Quad.

Mac stepped into the sunshine and blinked several times before sneezing as she looked up into the sun. Her eyes adjusted to the bright sun and she continued on her way. She passed a table of '09'ers, their usual spot, and she bit her bottom lip in hopes it would stop the snark that threatened to escape.

Of course right when she looked up it was into Dick's eyes.

He was holding court, surrounded by Meg Manning, the guy she was with at the time…Carter?, and Pam, the bitch queen. Everyone seemed to be comparing Purity Test scores. He stopped mid joke about Snow White getting a 'higher' (read: lower) score than Meg's boyfriend, and smiled at her. It was quick, but there was no doubt to whom it was intended for. She nodded, though really it was an acknowledgment rather than a greeting. She kept going, ignoring Pam's loud stage whisper about who pissed in Madison's _Wheaties_.

Mac made her way to the grassy knoll next to the football stadium.

Unceremoniously dumping her backpack on the grass, Mac flopped down beside it. She made quick work of her salad, enjoying the slight breeze that periodically kicked up. This was a great spot for an impromptu picnic, she had discovered it her senior year of high school when Cassidy had briefly broken things off. The field was her version of a thinking tree, she supposed. After finishing her meager lunch, Mac laid the empty bowl and soda can off to the side, and scooted over so she was lying down. She tucked the bag under her head as a pillow. Looking up at the blue sky, she watched the wispy clouds morph into shapes as they meandered by.

A shadow, thrown across her face, intruded upon her conscious attempts to block out any thoughts of lavender fields and cinnamon spiced cookies as a cure for all ills. She groaned internally, dragging her eyes reluctantly to the left, seeing that the shadow maker was indeed who she feared it was. She was certain her lack of enthusiasm was broadcast clearly across her face, but couldn't find the strength to care about her breech of manners. She crossed her arms over her chest, though whether as a shield or more of an impatient gesture she wasn't entirely sure, probably an equal measure of both.

"Whatcha doing?" he finally asked with schooled casualness, running a hand over his rumpled blond hair.

"Enjoying some solitude."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Yes," Mac replied automatically. She felt bad though, for a nanosecond at least, at the flash of hurt that flitted across Dick's face until he quickly shut down his vulnerability. "I'm not feeling very well right now, my head hurts." It wasn't a lie.

"I'm sure it does, that's a pretty nasty looking cut. Okay, well, see you in Mrs. Murphy's class then," he said, shrugging. "Feel better," he said as an afterthought, because it usually was with him. He turned around and left.

As she followed him with her eyes, Mac tried to talk herself into believing she was just imagining the dejected look on his face, that it was just projection from the present, she wasn't entirely sure how successful she was in selling that idea to herself though.

Figuring it was probably getting close to 6th period anyway; she laid there for about five more minutes and then, giving up the idea of much-needed reflection time, sat up again. Mac gathered her belongings and the trash from her _picnic_.

After throwing away her dishes in the trashcan by the back entrance, she went back into the school. She'd passed the quad again, and couldn't help noticing Dick hadn't rejoined his friends at the table, but she didn't wonder about his whereabouts beyond that. Pam, who was still in the same seat, shot her a questioning look, more like a glare really, but she kept on going. She never cared about what Pam thought of her back then, why would she start now?

Mac went back into the cavernous building and headed towards her locker in the east hallway. She passed the front reception area and noticed Wallace at the desk in deep conversation with Ms. James. She hoped he got the scoop on "Cindy," she just couldn't imagine a scenario where Madison—by any name—would have the skills involved in rewriting code to set up shop selling the test results, even if that enterprise got shut down quickly.

However, just as she was about to engage, or more like interrogate, Wallace for intel, the bell rang. Fortunately, they had seventh period together, and bonus, he'd make a good _Dick_ buffer, too. Happy with that silver lining, Mac made her way to Trig.

Math was definitely an area she had a lot of confidence in, so it was an hour Mac had been looking forward to. She had been called upon several times, and each time she'd easily been able to come up with the correct answer. She liked numbers and formulas, the utter predictability of them, whenever you paired X with Y, you always got Z, no exception, and nothing unexpected would come along to muck things up. That was the same reason she liked computers better than _most_ people—they, like numbers, didn't disappoint you, they never left you huddled naked in a hotel room terrified, completely alone and vulnerable. There wasn't much she felt she could count on this world, numbers –including those of binary variety, made the short list.

All that math predictability euphoria died a quick death at the sound of the bell ringing.

It was time for seventh period, her last class, and then she'd be able to say she survived her first day of her junior year in high school—for the _second _time!

It wasn't a long walk to Mrs. Murphy's classroom, and Mac was one of the first people to arrive. She selected a desk in the middle of the 3rd row, thinking it would fill up quickly, most likely before Dick had time to show up and plop his too good looking, surfer physique into the chair next to her.

Wallace came in next, and took the chair on her right. Mac smiled at him and said a quick prayer to the gossip Gods, hoping she'd get a juicy story soon about her other self. He was right in the middle of explaining the little bit of info he'd gleaned both from Clemmons' incident reports for "Cindy's" file and from talking with Ms. James.

She breathed a sigh of relief when Kevin Powell, from homeroom, plopped down on her other side. She didn't care who sat there, as long as it wasn't a certain blonde surfer—though being Southern California, that in and of itself was hardly in short supply.

Wallace was still explaining the sordid details of "Cindy's" part in the Purity Test leakage scandal, as it had trickled down to him at least. She'd taken on an accomplice to compensate for the code skills she lacked; she had her own talents however that she had played up to her advantage. The leer on Wallace's face made it clear that "Cindy's" programming was on a more carnal nature than numeric.

Curiosity claimed her, however, so she broke down and asked who the well-compensated accomplice was.

"Some computer geek from France, that used to work for the district," Kevin interjected quickly, before Wallace could reply. He didn't try to hide his eavesdropping.

"Use to work?" Mac asked. In her old life, she'd always liked Renny DeMouy, and by _liked_ she meant he had a nice ass, broad shoulders and sexy smile which she enjoyed watching as much as she liked getting paid to play with computers—it was a 50/50 operation.

"They fired his ass, probably sent him back to Paris," again, it was Kevin who interjected.

The whole thing sounded hinky to her, Remy was hardly the _criminal_ mastermind type, though he was easily manipulated by the_ fairer_ sex, and "Cindy" excelled in oral persuasion. However, before she could come up with some theories on the how's and why's of this dimension's purity test scandal, she felt hot breath on her neck. She whipped her head around as fast as the dull throbbing souvenir from her concussion would allow, and glared at the heavy breather.

It was Dick, naturally. He'd sat behind her and was leaning as close to her as the attached table arm would allow. He was unfazed.

"It's called personal space, Dick," she snapped, hitting the _k_ hard.

"You didn't seem to mind me in your personal space last weekend," he said under his breath.

"I don't recall that," she said, truthfully. "Besides, I mind it now."

"Generally it takes more than a concussion to forget about me," he responded with an air of overconfidence.

Mac made sure he could see her eye roll before she chanced a glance over at Wallace who had taken his beaten up copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ out of his bag and was busy pretending he wasn't eavesdropping on their conversation.

She was so happy when Mrs. Murphy came through the door just then and breezed to the front of the room. She proceeded to write out the _Catcher in the Rye_ in big caps on the top of the white board, and then she wrote out the word _theme_ and waited for everyone to start listing them. When the influx of volunteers never happened, Mrs. Murphy started recruiting victims including Mac. She volunteered "alienation" as an overriding theme. It was one thing in there that she always related to, being raised in the wrong family, not really finding that connection. The bitch of it was that this new life wasn't making her feel like she fit in either. It was still early in this mixed up universe, she reminded herself.

Phoniness and loneliness were also mentioned as concepts within the book worth exploring. Despite some of the people in her class trying to drag it down, Mac was happy to see that the time still went by quickly. Dick apparently enjoyed stirring up their teacher; he turned in an A+ caliber performance on that. Whenever he was asked about Holden Caulfield, Dick kept making _Garden State_ allusions instead. Mac was surprised when the bell rang and Dick still hadn't gotten sent out of class; she would have suspected bribery, but she'd not seen money changing hands the entire class time.

Mac hurriedly packed up her books, and tried to make it out the door before the big blonde surfer dude who didn't seem to get the hint that she wasn't ready to deal with him, in this universe at least. He made acting dumb an art form, however, Mac knew it was just an act. In high school—originally—she had actually bought into that persona, but the past two years had proven there was a lot more buried not quite as deep as she'd expected. Mac also had to admit she was not ready to face how Dick had treated his brother.

She had just made it to the threshold when she felt a hand squeeze her arm, firmly but not painfully. She slowly turned her head around and huffed out a breath when she saw Dick was the hand's owner. "What?" she snapped out, thinking the ruder she was the faster he'd calculate that X and Y equaled she needed some space—every guy's least favorite phrase.

"I was just going to say good-bye, have a good night." Dick wore his best injured-party expression. He kept his hand on her arm, gently nudging her on.

"Good night."

He stopped in the middle of the hall and just looked at her, it was probably only fifteen seconds of appraisal but felt deeper than that. "Look, Madi, I know you're still pissed, you can carry a grudge like no one else. The way I see it, though, is even you can't carry a grudge forever," Dick said, his cocky façade coating his words.

"Yeah, just keep on thinking that," Mac said. She matched his self-assured tone. She was about to turn on her heels and head the other direction when she saw a ghost. The bile rose and snaked around her stomach as she watched the very much alive Cassidy coming up to his older brother, wearing his signature smirky smile.

"Hey bro," Dick said in greeting. "How was Chem? Still gene slicing the perfect bionic woman? Cause we all know science is the only way you'll get a chick to bang you."

"Gene splicing, dorkwad," Cassidy automatically corrected. "That's just the first in a long line of what's wrong in that sentence."

While the Casablancas brothers teased and prodded each other in the middle of the hallway, Mac felt planted to the spot. She wanted to move, needed to move actually, but her feet felt heavy, matching her thoughts pound for pound. In retrospect, she should have been prepared to see ghosts of people now long dead, she chastised herself. Meg was only one of several Neptune High classmates gone but not gone from this plane of existence—that should have warned her there'd be more ghosts to cross her path. However, in the dank recesses of her mind, Mac knew that she'd never be prepared to see Cassidy, now that she knew what he did, what he was capable of in any reality.

The only real question left in the desolate desert of her mind, all other thoughts were sucked out at the first glimpse of Cassidy, was did knowing the potential path and fates of so many classmates obligate her to try to change the course of things? Could that be why the cosmic rewind button had been tripped? Would she really be able to change things? Probably not, but she knew she had to try, but it could wait for a time when her stomach wasn't losing the war it was engaged in with nausea and the remains of her meager lunch.

Cassidy had, by then, seen her and called out a cool greeting her way before getting back to his girl-bot discussion with Dick. Mac gave the briefest of waves in his direction before clamping a hand over her mouth and heading towards the bathroom. She barely registered Dick calling her name as she sidestepped groups of people still congregating in the hallways before leaving school grounds for the day. She kept her fast paced sprint down the hall and into the girl's rest room across from Mr. C's desk in the office area.

Sweat was starting to bead across her forehead as she ran into the bathroom, pushing past two girls, in too much of a hurry to look at them. She burst into the first stall, lifted the lid and just made it in time to empty her stomach. Cassidy's name ran an endless loop through her mind, as she knelt down in front of the toilet and threw up. She kept memories of graduation night, being naked and alone, put on lock down though.

After she was finished, Mac flushed the toilet, and stood up on shaky legs. She ran the back of her hand across her mouth, hoping to hide the evidence. From the other side of the stall door, Mac heard one of the girls softly saying they had what they needed and to check back in three days, then there was a reply she couldn't really make out and the sound of the door opening and shutting.

Thinking the coast was now clear; Mac left the privacy of her stall. She saw she'd miscalculated when she saw a short blond at the sink washing her hands. She recognized the style of the hair, the determined set of the shoulders—Veronica. She had obviously just finished making another business transaction in her "office."

The sick feeling was still lingering despite the release, and seeing Veronica standing there in her innocence, not yet knowing who was responsible for the big, bold, black line the rape caused in her life, made Mac's eyes tear up. She blinked them back and stood next to her friend at the sink and turned on the tap. She bent her head down, hoping to stay off the radar of the great Veronica Mars. That was just a fantasy.

"Are you okay? Uh, d'uh. Of course you're not," Veronica back-pedaled.

"I'm fine, well, not fine, but better now," Mac said. She looked up and their eyes met in the mirror.

"Do you need anything? Water, perhaps?" Veronica asked. Mac wasn't surprised, her friend had a soft side that was ingrained, life had done its best to beat that out of her but it was still riding piggy back on her recombinant DNA.

"Thanks, I'm okay. I'll grab a soda for the road." She turned off the tap and shook her dripping hands over the sink.

"Look, this is obviously not my business," Veronica started, "but…Anyways, I just wanted to offer my services. I think you're very brave going it alone."

Mac looked at her for a long minute, and then cocked her head. Suddenly it struck her what she was referring to. She gave a sharp, surprised bark of laughter.

"I'm not doing anything alone."

"Oh, well, good, I just, well…Dick is your boyfriend, right?" She turned to her left and grabbed two paper towels from the dispenser, keeping one and handing Mac the other one.

Mac smiled her thanks and then just shrugged. Hell if she knew the dating status between her and Dick.

"I just assumed…"

"I know what you assumed, but it's not true. I'm not pregnant. I guess I was fighting some kind of germ off. "

Veronica replied back "okay," so softly Mac wasn't sure at first she'd said anything. Was that the first thing that sprung to mind when a '09'er was leaning over a toilet puking, especially a'09'er dating Dick. She could understand that thought pattern, but fortunately Veronica wasn't a gossip in any form, that was how rumors got started. Honestly though, this might be one situation where someone thinking she was pregnant was a better story than the actual truth—she got overwhelmed by seeing her dead, psycho, murdering, rapist ex-boyfriend still alive and interacting with his drunken, grieving brother—who was neither drunk nor grieving at the moment either.

Together they walked out of the bathroom, stopping just briefly at the soda machine near the entrance to the west wing so Mac could grab a Coke to settle her stomach.

They headed toward the back exit to where the student parking areas were located. Conversation was full of stops and starts, the tentative views of two people getting to know each other better, she assumed they knew each other in passing from pep squad, but it seemed they obviously weren't close in this life. The fact was, it was just nice reconnecting with Veronica, who she hardly saw anymore in any dimension.

They parted ways at the entrance to parking lot B, Mac heading to the Cadillac while Veronica went off towards lot A and her rusting black Le Baron.

She'd survived her first day back at Neptune High—somewhat, at least.

**_TBC…_**

**_***Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks!_**


	7. Chapter 7--Call me Queen Bee

**_A?N: Another Mac chapter back in 2004. Thank you so much for all the follows, fave's & reviews. So glad you're enjoying this story half as much as I'm enjoying writing it. I hope that continues because I have so many more ideas for this story, stories actually, since we've got 2 timelines going. The chapter after this one will be another Dick POV, back in the "present time." Thanks again to cainc3 for being my beta & putting up with me. _**

**_Obligatory Disclaimer: The VM universe change of ownership paperwork still has NOT come through, so apparently I don't own a thing. I do enjoy playing around though..._**

**_Chapter 7—Call me Queen Bee_**

Mac's second day at Neptune high started off a lot like her first day. She was just beginning to think she was stuck in her own personal hell of a _Groundhog Day_, doomed to repeat the same shit storm of high school angst, the exact story she lived the first time but this time with more money and the same basic characters albeit cast into slightly different roles.

At lunch time she grabbed a salad and a can of _Coke _from the cafeteria and exited the building through the doors leading out into the quad. She was cutting through the tables, on her way to the same grassy knoll she hid out in the previous day.

"Madison, over here," she heard as she walked by. "Why don't you join us?"

Looking around, her eyes' focused on Wallace and Veronica sitting at a table straddling the economic divide—it was the same table they'd all inhabited the previous incarnation.

Embracing her new friend and constant companion, _déjà vu_, Mac plopped her lunch down and sat down across from Wallace and next to Veronica. "Hey, guys."

They both returned the greeting.

"You look like you feel better today," Veronica added, referring to the previous day when she heard Mac vomiting in the bathroom.

"I am. I think it was just a souvenir from the concussion, no big deal," Mac covered in a dismissive tone.

Veronica just nodded and then changed the subject. "So, where were you off to? You're like a woman on a mission." Veronica inquired. She took a potato chip from the snack-sized bag in front of her.

"Hiding?" Wallace hypothesized. He removed his sandwich from the plastic baggie and laid it out in front of him.

"Something like that," Mac affirmed. "Though hiding is such an ugly word, I prefer questing for some solitude."

"Does that mean Dick got your usual '09'er table in the divorce?" Veronica asked. She ate the last chip from the container and put it back into the blue reusable lunch bag in front of her.

Mac laughed but just shrugged instead of commenting. All evidence had pointed to the fact this version of herself and Dick were definitely dating, or had some type of relationship beyond pseudo friendship, but she still didn't know her _Facebook_ status with Dick. Maybe it was on her _MySpace_ page? They _MySpaced _back then, right? She opened her soda can and took a big sip.

"Well, we're glad you decided to trade your solitude for wasting the hour with us," Wallace said, then took the first bite of his ham and swiss sandwich.

Then he and Veronica circled back to their earlier conversation. They were filling in the blanks on the Purity test _scandal._

"Yes, scandal," Wallace reiterated. "That's the official name for it, handed down by the board of education, according to Mr. Clemmons."

"Scandal makes it sound so ugly," Mac defended. It wasn't a scandal when she did it; it was just a public service to her fellow student—and her car fund, too. This watered down Cindy didn't do it right, evidently. First, you don't delegate something of a delicate nature like this to anyone else; people talk even if money (or blow jobs) were exchanged. There were still gaps in the case, far as Mac could tell but her curiosity would be hard to explain. She was never one to really care about gossip, oh she heard it, but it was never something she catalogued for personal use, in particular all the stories that revolved around Veronica.

"So, part of your job as clerical aid is Mr. Clemmons' sounding board?"

"Hey, he likes me, what can I say? I'm a polite, upstanding citizen, that's a direct quote," Wallace said, sticking his tongue out at Veronica. She returned the favor, wadding up her napkin and throwing at him.

"I know you, remember?"

"Okay, I'll amend that, around Mr. Clemmons I'm nothing if not a polite, upstanding member of the Neptune High student body."

"And when you're not at school you have the innate ability to piss off the wrong people," Veronica added, smiling triumphantly at Wallace. Mac remembered that Veronica and Wallace had first become friends when she untaped him from the flag pole after he'd narc'ed on the PCH'ers after they stole beer from the Sac & Pack convenience store while he was on duty.

"Yup!" he agreed. "It's talent."

"Or a dual personality, I'm not sure which," Veronica retorted, tapping a finger on her chin as though in deep thought. Then she reached into her lunch bag, grabbing the butterscotch pudding cup and a spoon. She opened the container and took a big bite.

"Dual personality, definitely," Wallace agreed over another bite of his sandwich. "Guess which of my personalities likes you?"

"Both of them," Veronica retorted confidently.

Mac ate her salad as she listened to the easy back and forth between Veronica and Wallace.

Truthfully she was surprised at how easy they'd "adopted" her in this dimension, with the whole '09'er status hanging over her. Maybe it only existed in her mind. There was a divide in Neptune, that was a solid fact, but maybe she didn't wear a red neon sign. Of course, for a card-carrying member of the _have-not's_ club, Veronica had been—once upon a time—very comfortable in the posh country club lifestyle of the town's plentiful _haves_, maybe that allowed her to overlook that new status in this alternate life style.

After yesterday's run in with Cassidy, Mac softened a little bit on her desire to stay away from Dick. For one thing she had the distinction of being the only one who knew how close he was lingering on the cliff of losing his entire family. He had a toe over the edge and didn't have a clue he was about to fall over. It was not knowledge she liked having—she felt like a time-warped version of _Atlas_, the weight of two different dimensions firmly on her bony shoulders.

The gray edges of a not yet fully formed plan were starting to take shape in her mind; maybe she could save Cassidy and therefore her classmates. She assumed that the damage had already been done to Veronica—though she didn't know if the circumstances had changed dimension to dimension or not, however. That was a realization that hurt badly, she could only hope that this Madison—_herself_—had played no role in things. She wanted to believe there wasn't a dimension that existed where she'd be a party to hurting her friend so deeply, accidently or otherwise. Regardless, she just hoped she could get help for Cassidy. If she could get through to Dick, that is.

There were a whole lot of hypotheticals in that pseudo plan.

In homeroom, earlier that morning, she had thawed out her cold shoulder treatment of Dick, so it was merely a lukewarm shoulder. However, it was his turn to barely acknowledge her. She had no right to be upset with his avoidance techniques after all the ducking she'd done to him, but it stung a little sharper than she'd have thought—more than she wanted it to, if she were honest with herself.

They'd exchange a brief nod as he'd come through the door just after final bell, and then he did a quick check in on how she was feeling- Presumably he had noticed her quick sprint to the bathroom after seventh period the previous day. Then once the obligatory status check was done, he went back to pretending she wasn't there.

He took the seat Mrs. Murphy had evidently had on reserve special for him and made another cocky joke about her having a thing for him. It definitely lent a whole _first-day-in-an-infinite-loop_ air to things. When homeroom was over they both walked to their first class in close proximity, she was just a few feet in front of him but he didn't even attempt to engage her.

It was…weird.

Now at lunch he was holding court at his usual table—in this life, and the old one, too—saying something that had Logan laughing loudly. It was undoubtedly inappropriate. A side-eyed glance at Veronica proved what Mac had suspected, she was trying to be covert in her tracking of Logan's movements. If they were following the same timeline in this dimension, there was chemistry apparent between Veronica and her favorite _obligatory psychotic jackass_, but nothing had yet been done to resolve it—or kick it up several notches.

She and Dick had made eye contact periodically, but other than the brief eye-meets he didn't give any indication that he was aware of her presence. She wished she had a hardcopy of his rule book. She took a bite of her salad and let her mind loop around to his parting shot the day before, his cock-sure affirmation about her not carrying a grudge forever. She wasn't sure the _what_ or _why _of the grudge, it happened before the soul-exchange, but he evidently seemed to think if he backed off a bit she'd step forward.

_Asshole. _

"Did you get chapters twenty through twenty-three read in _Catcher in the Rye_?" Wallace was asking.

At Mac's blank stare in his direction, Wallace snapped his fingers in her face and repeated the question.

"Yes," she lied. She hadn't actually read them but being her second favorite book of all-time it was fresh enough she could engage in an intelligent conversation about the motivation and drives of Holden Caulfield. "You?"

"Yes, because books about over-privileged white boys whining about phony people is how I like to spend my time off the court."

"I would have thought the desire to get an A and not have your mom ground you for not applying yourself might be motivation enough for you to spend precious off-court time reading about whiny rich white boys." Veronica countered. "And you," she continued now looking in Mac's direction, "stop eye-fucking Dick. You know, while we're on the whole topic of over-privileged white boys."

"Eye-fucking?" Mac raised her brow.

"I'm sorry, that was indelicate. Stop eye-fornicating."

"Much better, you are a lady after all," Wallace said dryly.

"That's right. You know what they say, Veronica Mars is a…" she paused so her friends could fill in the blanks.

"Lady," Wallace said at the same time Mac replied "marshmallow."

Veronica gave Wallace _thumbs up_, and then just shook her head at Mac, giving her a rueful look. "I've never been called that in my life, it's like you don't even know me."

"Sorry, I must be thinking of life in another dimension," Mac snarked with an ironic smile. She shrugged, wishing she could remove the teasing tone from her voice as she said it, but again the idea of being strapped down on a table while they studied her brain for future generations lacked a certain appeal. "Although, you know, there's a first for everything."

"True. Maybe we can spread that rumor, I can be kind of gooey, like a marshmallow," Veronica conceded.

"Stop it," Wallace said holding his hand out in front of him like a traffic cop. "Now I'm craving S'mores."

"S'mores? What do you know about those, Fennell?"

"I was a Boy scout back in Chicago," Wallace insisted. He looked over at Veronica's disbelieving expression, "What? It's true."

"I hear ya, Wallace. S'mores, with vegan marshmallows, are my favorite part of camping, probably the only part I like really."

"Camping?" Veronica echoed. She arched a brow in surprise. "You camp? I somehow don't picture you and your family roughing it."

Mac realized her mistake and back peddled a bit.

"By camping, I mean in a roadside motel, that's the definition of camping, right?"

"Text book," Wallace informed, the gleam in his eye explaining that there was an in-joke buried in there somewhere. "If you're from the oh-nines, that is. Us common folk, we prefer our hundred dollar tents with duct tape covering the holes."

"Tents? Duct tape? P'shaw, that's for sissies, the Mars family sleeps under the stars."

"When did you ever do that?"

"Um, second grade, backyard, back when we had a yard to call our own," Veronica clarified; Mac could see the yearning in her expression, hear the wistful tone behind her friend's jokey words. She longed to put her arm around her, maybe squeeze her hand, but it wouldn't be easy to explain away that intimacy which popped up in a longtime friendship, of having been there during that tumultuous time in Veronica's life. The camping remark had just proven to her why she needed to be on guard at all times in this life.

Despite Veronica's earlier accusation about her exchanging eye-fornicating glances with Dick, Mac noticed that he seemed to go out of his way to not look at her, or rather not get caught doing it. She'd glance up periodically from whatever discussion she was actively participating in with Veronica and Wallace, and notice Dick tracking her movements, their eyes would meet for the briefest of time, and then he'd look away first. If she said she understood him any better in the _real world_ though it would be a lie, she didn't understand him in any dimension.

All too soon the bell rang signaling the end to the jokey, easy conversation with Wallace and Veronica. Mac gathered up her trash, threw it out in the proper receptacles and headed off to her Trig class.

She had just settled into a chair in the first row, center, and dug out her textbook in preparation of listening to Mr. Meyer's spend a full hour discussing _Lissajous curves_ verses _Spirographs, _when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She whipped around. The tapper was a guy she thought only looked vaguely familiar.

"You're back! I didn't know if you'd be here today or still at home recovering. You look good, Madi. Sorry I didn't call over the weekend, we were still at the cabin. Dick text me Friday night to tell me what happened, but I didn't get it until we were on our way back home. Spotty cell reception in the Sierra's," the lanky guy with longish, curly dark hair said in an embarrassed rush. "You know how it is."

_No, not really_, she thought but didn't voice. Instead she automatically replied, "it's okay..." Her voice trailed at the end as she realized she didn't have a name to use.

The nickname implied they were closer than just two people in the same math class. She didn't have any idea who her friends were in this realm, so it occurred to her this might be someone she hung out with, maybe someone who was friends with her and Dick. Those damn '09'er cliques, they seemed to be an inbred (so to speak) bunch.

The guy, her _friend_ Mac supposed, quizzed her a little bit more about her cheerleading accident, and razzed her a bit more about that lifestyle choice as well. It was strange hearing the intimacy, for lack of a better word, in his tone, and still not know his name.

That mystery was solved five minutes into class though when Mr. Meyers took attendance and the guy-in-question raised his hand in response to the name Jackson Douglas. She wondered when and how she and Jackson became friends.

When math was over her _new_ old friend Jackson walked her to her next class, as his was right across the hall from her English class. He told her a couple stories about his trip and she found herself laughing quite a bit. Most pages of her new script were confusing, but this was actually one place where she seemed to know her expected lines instinctively. They parted in front of Mrs. Murphy's door, Jackson promising to call that night after her class.

Mac walked in and saw that Dick hadn't arrived yet. She hadn't seen him since lunch time when they both spent most of the time sneaking glances at each other and not get called out.

It was game they both lost, or it was a game they both won. Mac really wasn't sure which.

By the time he arrived, less than a minute prior to the bell, there were two seats left; one next to Mac and another on the opposite end of the classroom. She watched as he gave her a brief smile and nod in acknowledgement—which was more than she had gotten at lunch—and then took the seat on the other side.

Instead of listening to Mrs. Murphy further delve into the themes of alienation in _Catcher in the Rye_, Mac tried to make sense of the fact that Dick was barely aware of her today, whereas the day before he was her shadow. Had he perhaps had his own pod person experience? She didn't want to waste all that thinking time on Dick, of all people, but his 180 degree turnaround was odd even for him, and he pretty much redefined the word _odd_ on a normal day.

At long last, the final bell rang signaling the end of the school day. Mac didn't stick around long enough for Dick to ignore her again. For one thing she didn't want another run in with Cassidy, but she also had to get home to get ready for the class she taught at the Senior Center. Jackson had inadvertently reminded her of that gig. It was weird imagining herself teaching, but she supposed it was well-placed within her skill set.

The class went smoothly. Once Mac was up there talking about the one subject she knew in, out, and upside down she forgot about the strange time loop she'd been sucked into. She forgot about Dick and their probable relationship, she forgot about the mysteries of this new life and the pain of her old one. She got lost into the black and white absolutism of binary code, basic command functionality. Though most of her students were older than her Grandma Franklin they seemed to enjoy learning about computers and weren't shy about asking questions, though most of the questions were pretty much identical except for the way in which they were asked. Mac was surprised to find out she wasn't annoyed by that in the least, she actually spent the entire hour and fifteen minutes of class time without rolling her eyes once, she suspected that might have been a record.

Back at home—well, the Sinclair's—(would it ever feel like home?) she sat at one of the computers at the newly expanded desk 'Dad1' had been contracted to build and started outlining her paper for her _Future Hackers of America_ class. She didn't have a large sample size to build from, but she was able to draw out a couple topics she'd covered in class, she was confident she'd be able to come up with enough to fill the five page report (double spaced) that Mr. Matthews wanted in less than forty-eight hours.

True to his word, Jackson called to check in. They chatted for a couple minutes before Mac begged off. No one else called or text her though. She tried to convince herself it was just habit that had her checking the _dead-air_ radio silence cell phone, nothing more than that.

****/*****

The next morning, Mac was just tucking into a bowl of the organic vegan cereal Lucille always had waiting for her on the table in the breakfast nook, when 'Mom2'/Ellen came over, holding a cup of coffee. She laid a kiss on Mac's head, and then plopped down in the chair across from her.

"Morning Madi. How'd you sleep, dear?"

"Good," Mac said, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. "Thanks."

"I made an appointment for you at 2:00 with Dr. Stephenson to remove your stitches. I thought I'd drop you off at school this morning, then maybe I could pick you up after fourth period and we could go to the club for lunch. Does that work? You don't have a test or anything in the afternoon, do you?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, if you do we can get it excused," Ellen said dismissively, taking a sip of her coffee.

Mac made a face and lightly brushed the tender area around her cut. "Can't we just leave them in until they fall out? Isn't it going to hurt?" She took one last bite of her cereal and pushed it away, slightly nauseated at the idea of getting them removed, especially at the idea of being in more pain.

"No, and no," she said confidently. "It's much worse getting stitches than having them removed, dear."

"I don't remember it hurting when I got them," Mac smirked.

"Imagine that. You were unconscious when they brought you in. Dick said you were conscious for a little bit right after the accident, and then passed out again until after they stitched you up in the ER."

"Dick?"

"Remember, I told you he called a few times over the weekend. He mentioned that to me in passing," Ellen explained. Then she paused, took a deep breath, and then said tentatively, "is there something you want to talk about? Maybe over a veggie melt…" She reached across the glass topped table to pat her hand reassuringly.

"No, nothing to talk about, though a veggie melt does sound good."

"Excellent! I'll write a note and when you're done with breakfast I'll drop you off. I'm excited, Madi, we haven't had a mother/daughter day in ages." She gave Mac another pat and then took her hand back.

Ellen dropped her off in front of the main entrance. Mac remembered freshman year when she got into a fight with a girl on the bus through no fault of her own; she didn't throw the first punch, but she sure as hell threw the last one.

Her mom—Natalie—took her to school every day for a month; convinced the bus was a dangerous place. Finally, Sam ('Dad1') put his big, size 12, foot down and insisted Mac go back to riding the bus, Mackenzie's weren't going to let some _punk ass chicken shit girl_ keep her from riding the bus. Her dad rarely cussed so that had made an impression on her as she heard them arguing in the kitchen, thinking she couldn't hear them over the din of the TV. She'd heard every word. Usually her mom (Natalie) was the final decision maker, but in that instance Sam won the round, and the war, too. The very next day she was back on the bus, and the girl who threw the first punch stayed far away from her.

Mac wasn't entirely sure why that memory came back to her, but ever since the previous Friday things from her Mac-life, little memories she hadn't thought of in ages, would come back to her in flashes. She supposed that was side-effect of this cosmic re-do.

She entered the building and went straight to her locker before heading to Mrs. Murphy's for homeroom. Surprisingly, Dick was already there, standing in front of Kevin Powell's desk, recapping some greatly exaggerated adventure from the night before. His eyes tracked her as she headed for a desk in the back.

Mac took a seat, and then grabbed her purple backpack and dug through it until her hand connected with her battered copy of _Catcher in the Rye_. She pulled it out and flipped to chapter 24. As she skimmed it to refresh her memory about Holden's conversation and coffee with Mr. Antolini she would periodically raise her gaze over the book to scan the room. Again, courting denial as usual, Mac told herself she was just staying aware of her surroundings, a good habit regardless of the situation. Dick had just plopped down in the empty seat next to Kevin.

Then homeroom commenced. Three days into her junior year redux, and seeing Meg Manning giving the morning announcements on the internal closed caption TV wasn't getting any easier. Mac was fairly certain she'd never get used to it, and if she did maybe that wouldn't be a good sign, as though maybe fate were setting things up for her to go "riding for some kind of terrible, terrible fall," to quote JD Salinger.

At last the bell rang and Mac headed out of homeroom and into the herd of students heading towards their first period. Dick had stayed behind talking with Kevin and the friend of rodent boy, for some reason Mac hadn't bothered with trying to ascertain. She was almost at the door to her computer science—aka Future Hackers of America class—when she heard her name being called. She turned around and saw Dick.

"Yeah?"

"Nice greeting, Madi," Dick snarked. "Your lessons at the _Martha Stewart Finishing School_ are really paying off."

"Sorry," Mac muttered automatically, though she didn't feel as contrite as the situation probably warranted.

"I was just wondering if you were still digging into that grudge, and obviously the answer is that you are. Look, Mad, I know you're pissed, I fucked up, I do that. It's my thing, and what the hell, without that you'd have nothing to bitch about, so you should be thanking me."

He smirked at the glare the last bit earned him.

"Let's meet after seventh," he continued. "Maybe we can make up in the supply closet." He gave her a mocking leer, which was an expression she was certain she'd never seen combined before, but he pulled it off in an impressive way. He maneuvered to his left just before Mac's fist could meet the upper part of his arm, so she was left hitting the empty air.

It was on the tip of her tongue to give him a new address to try (**_hell_**) but he must have _Jedi Mind Tricked_ her because instead she found herself weakly agreeing to meet, but not for the making up part, she had the wherewithal to remember to add. Maybe it would be a good thing, she could find out what was behind his hot-cold-then lukewarm _yo-yo_ act. What part of his pea-sized brain thought that was a good plan?

Triumphantly, Dick smiled then turned on his heel and walked the other direction, presumably to go to the bathroom since his class was just a couple doors down from hers.

Mac was about to enter her Computer Science class when she remember the one little flaw in that plan.

"Shit, Dr. Stevenson," Mac muttered. She wasn't aware she'd said it aloud though until she noticed the strange glances directed her way. She blushed, and then mentally shrugged it off. She'd probably see him later anyway.

That never happened; neither did her intent to text him. She'd be about to whip out her cell from the murky depths of her bag when the teacher would call on her or something else equally distracting would waylay her.

Mac wasn't surprised in the least when, at noon exactly; her mom was at the office waiting for her. Ellen had an air of punctuality about her.

They exchanged a kiss on the cheek. Ellen was affectionate, but she lacked Natalie's natural exuberance.

On the way to the club Mac filled her in on her day thus far, carefully leaving out all mentions of Dick.

When they arrived at the club, and entered the massive foyer, Mac surveyed the place as covertly as possible. It was as though she was trying to memorize the space, so careful was her perusal. She noticed the light colored wood floors and the green and beige area rugs placed strategically near all doorways, the big rose colored velvet sofas, ornate glass topped coffee tables and the big crystal tear drop light fixture above. The far wall was dominated by a large gray stone fireplace, giving it more of a living room feel.

Mac supposed the "Richie riches" liked to dine in environments which felt like an extension of their McMansions rather than places with chipped Formica and the worn down linoleum of the Neptune Diner where she usually went with Natalie for after-shopping fortification and energy replenishment. In fact, she'd been there so much they'd even put a vegan black bean burger on the menu, special for her.

After being greeted warmly by name, the perky brunette hostess showed them to a table overlooking the first tee. The vast green of the course sloped down from there. Mac watched as an overweight guy in all pink made his first swing of the club, she was too far away to tell where it went, but it looked to her like it veered too far to the right. It seemed to land in a bank of trees.

"…being limited in their vegetarian offerings, I'm sure you're getting your usual veggie melt. Right, dear?" Ellen was saying as she looked over the menu she had likely memorized anyway. There was a pair of half-moon reading glasses perched on her nose.

A few minutes later their waitress came by with the 2 glasses of iced tea Ellen had requested when they first sat down, and to take their food order. She was a certified member of the perky club, too—obviously a prerequisite for employment here.

Mac took a sip of her tea; fortunately it wasn't the sweet variety Natalie drank by the gallon. She watched Ellen take a sip at the same time she did, mirror images of each other, and then they both opened their mouth to say something simultaneously. "Jinx," they both said, again at the same time.

Ellen cleared her throat and tried again. "Is everything okay with you, Madi? I mean," she sighed, "really. I don't want them to kick you out of the teen club or anything, but dear, you can talk to me if something is bothering you."

Mac just cocked her head. Did she smell different or something? Did she just steal a page from the cat's playbook by sensing that she wasn't the same Madi they raised? That somehow, some way, a substitution had been made mid-game?

"You just have been quieter than usual the past few days, and I mean beyond just the fact your head hurts and the pain pills make you sleepy. In fact, I noticed you were more subdued since before your accident," Ellen went on to clarify, she clinched her eyes shut briefly when she said the word accident, as though blinking back the memories that stirred up.

"I'm fine," Mac began automatically, but then the arrival of food interrupted her reassurances.

The perky _California blonde_ waitress placed her veggie and soy cheese melt sandwich in front of her, and then handed off Ellen's own chicken and avocado melt. Conversation reached a lull as they ate their sandwiches and polished off the fries (from a dedicated fryer—Mac checked). However, the talking commenced again after they both had full bellies.

As though unpausing a tape recorder, she seemed to remember the exact spot where the conversation had last stalled. Dick's name came up again despite Mac insisting he had nothing to do with her "strange" behavior the past several days. Ellen didn't believe her, as evidenced by the raised eyebrow and head shake.

She sighed in resignation. "So how is Dick holding up these days?"

Mac cocked her head in confusion and furrowed her brow. That wasn't a question that was asked in 2004, back when Cassidy was the Beav, his tag-along too-smart baby brother. Dick was just the happy-go-lucky asshole and purveyor of boob jokes and sarcastic one-liners.

"I saw Betina out on the courts on Friday, before your, ah…tumble. That woman, she's the most frigid…_creature_ I've ever met. I couldn't imagine looking to her for comfort; I've met statues more nurturing than her." Ellen said.

Mac noticed the hesitation before she said creature, and could tell her prim and proper bio-mom wanted so badly to use the word _bitch_ but bit it back at the last minute. Having met Betina herself, back in the original 2004, Mac agreed totally with that assessment of her personality. It was weird, she felt bad for Cass and his obvious mom issues, and they both had that in common though the specifics of those "mom issues" were quite different. However, Dick dipped in that same gene pool and she never thought a damn thing about how it might have affected him, too. She just never had much of a reason back then to give any thought to him other than a vague reflection on what an ass he was as he called her "Ghostworld," and made fun of her dork-relationship with the "Beav". She would study the hopeful look which would make a quick flash appearance when Dick spoke to Cassidy, and then quickly fade to hurt at his cutting _jokes_.

"She's preparing to leave town again, which is that woman's MO. So, I know that has to be eating at Dick, just, ah, keep that in mind. I'm not saying let him treat you badly, but just keep in mind his parents keep jerking those boys around, involving them in mind games aimed to hurt each other," 'Mom2' warned. There was empathy in her voice. She looked around the mostly empty room as though making sure none of Betina's minions and admirers were around to hear her disparage their ice queen.

The waitress came by to drop the bill, and Ellen signed it, adding a sizeable tip to the amount that would be charged to their club account.

The wait at Dr. Stevenson's office was only five minutes, but Mac's stomach was knotted up in fear of what she was sure was going to be a painful procedure.

"Madison Sinclair," the nurse, in a Scooby Doo scrub top and black framed glasses, said from the doorway.

Mac reluctantly stood up, feeling like she was off to an execution—hers. She slowly made her way over to her escort to the exam room. 'Mom2' gathered her purse and followed.

She was taken to a nurse's station and her vitals were taken before they were shown to room 5. The nurse said the doctor would be there shortly, and then firmly shut the door behind her. To Mac it sounded like the final clank of an iron door being shut, locking her into a prison cell. Not that she'd ever been in jail—that was more Veronica's area of expertise than hers, but she still had the _Alcatraz _daydream running through her mind.

A knock sounded on the door and Dr. Stevenson entered the room. He was tall, in excess of six feet from what Mac could tell, with a lanky build and just beginning to thin, dark blond hair. The same nurse that took her vitals was trailing him; she was carrying a supply basket with her.

While the nurse had Mac lie on the table as she set to work cleaning the cut, she heard her mom ('Mom2') and the doctor chatting. She didn't hear everything that was said, but it sounded like they were talking shop. The one thing she did hear was Dr. Stevenson asking her mom to tell her dad to send Ed in, _whoever the hell he was_, to recalibrate their X-Ray machine.

"Ouch," Mac muttered, she automatically tried to sit up but was stopped by the nurse's hand. Her spying was interrupted by a flash of pain as the nurse squirted some _betadine_ solution on the cut to further clean it.

The stinging quickly subsided. Now clean, the doctor came over and using some instrument, Mac couldn't even see, made quick work of removing the stitches. Other than a slight tug, it was painless. After putting a couple adhesive strips over the still tender wound, Mac was done. She was instructed to remove the strips in five days, and the appointment was finished.

*******/*********/******

That night her parents had a business dinner to attend at _Poseidon's Bistro_, the four star restaurant in the Neptune Grand.

Lauren had gone to bed shortly after they'd had the vegan eggplant casserole Lucille had set out for their dinner. Mac was a little disappointed, she'd hoped to spend more time with her sister, but Lauren wasn't feeling well so she understood. She also had to finish the paper for her so-called _Future Hackers of America_ class about her teaching experiences. She'd gotten a decent start the previous night, so it wasn't looking to be a major undertaking.

Mac went up about an hour after dinner was done to check on Lauren. She was fast asleep, spread out on her bed, black hair fanning the pillow. Mac listened briefly to her soft snuffling, a noise somewhere trapped between a deep breath and soft snoring. No matter what else happened in this new life, at least she had Lauren. Softly backing out of the room so she wouldn't wake her sister, Mac detoured to her own room to grab _her_ laptop.

After lugging it downstairs, she deposited it on the coffee table in the family room. Before going upstairs to check on Lauren, Mac had thought she'd seen Fritz back in the library, stretched out on his back, snoozing by the fireplace that wasn't even burning. She stopped by the pantry off the mud room and grabbed a small carton of _Cat's Pride_ cat treats—Tuna flavored. Gross, but she figured Fritz would be pleased. He'd been largely avoiding her since their little run in Sunday. She certainly wasn't above trying to bribe him to get into his good graces _again_.

With the treat box firmly in tow, Mac slowly and carefully trekked her way over to the library. She peaked in and saw Fritzy hadn't even moved one paw since she had caught a quick glimpse of him on her way upstairs to see her sister.

Quietly she made her way towards him. Right before she reached her destination though, he rolled over so he was no longer belly up, but didn't run off. She shook the carton as though telling him she came in peace. He craned his little cat head forward as though in invitation. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Mac shook a couple into her palm and while assailing her nose, she handed the treats out to the cat.

She tried to tamp down her impatience as the cat slowly moved closer to her hand to examine the situation. He finally deigned to take one tuna bite off her palm and was just about to daintily nibble the other one when a loud knock at the door, followed by a peal of the doorbell caused the cat to run the other direction. There went all the progress she'd made in getting Fritz to like her.

Mac slowly walked to the front hall. She looked through one of the curtains lining the narrow windows that flanked both sides of the front door. She couldn't see much about the person on the other side of the door, except a broad male chest in a green shirt. It was a familiar looking, ripply muscled chest. She put the curtain back into position and getting up on her tip-toes she flexed up so she could see out the peek-hole. She got a better view of her gentleman caller—the familiar, muscled up chest and shaggy blonde hair belonged to Dick Casablancas.

Biting back a groan, she opened the door, and pasted on a faux-smile. "Dick, I don't recall issuing you an engraved invite, or you know an invitation of any kind." She gritted her teeth.

"Well, I thought we had plans after school, I waited, you were a no-show, so I thought I'd bring this party to you," Dick explained, pushing by her, not waiting to be invited inside.

"I don't recall saying 'come in,'" Mac replied, shutting the door behind him anyway. She leaned up against it. She wasn't about to usher him into the inner sanctum, that would encourage lingering. She still had the report to finish up.

"Well, being I'm not a vampire, though I do bite upon request," he leered, "I don't need to be invited in to enter. It's not like I haven't been here before, Madi." He stood right in front of her.

"That doesn't mean you had a blanket invite."

"Oh, I've heard plenty of _blanket_-invites come outta your mouth," Dick rejoined, adding emphasis to the word blanket, making his wordplay obvious. Subtlety wasn't in his nature.

Mac rolled her eyes; it seemed to be her default setting whenever he was around. "So, the point of you dropping by is…? I know you weren't just in the neighborhood."

"Well, being I live in the neighborhood, I was actually _just_ in the neighborhood. You're right though; my point for this little excursion is to explain myself since you seem so hell bent on making me miserable, Madi."

"I'm not the one being a stalker one day, and acting like a complete stranger the next, Dick." Mac hit the "k" hard, practically spitting it out.

"No, you were the one being cold and frigid the entire time, nothing **but** consistent there. I fucked up, but I don't want to just leave it to linger between us. We're so not done, Madi." Dick's tone got a little plaintive at the end.

"Don't I get a say in that?"

Dick laughed; it had a harsh bite to it. "Depends on what you have to say. So, where were you this afternoon? You were a no-show in class. I figured you were ditching class…Ditching me."

"Appointment to get my stitches removed. I forgot about it this morning, until mom came by to get me before lunch."

"Oh," Dick said. His face got soft for a moment, concerned. "You okay?" He leaned in a little closer to where Mac was still leaning against the door. He smoothed back a strand of her hair, so he could get a better look at the cut.

"It didn't hurt. Evidently, I'll live."

"You only, basically, scared the shit out of me Friday, Mad. I was coming by to watch you practice, and um, talk to you about Thursday, and I saw you falling head first off the pyramid. I can't_ unsee _that, believe me, I've tried."

"You were there?"

"Your blood is still on my favorite tee shirt. Marie has washed it five times so far, there's still a brown stain in the middle of where it says '_Master Debater_,'" Dick said. "I kind of like it," he added as an afterthought.

She vaguely remembered someone leaning over her, speaking softly in a reassuring tone, but she'd been so scared in that freeze-frame moment in time that she hadn't known who her nurse was. She hadn't known anything in that space except that she was on the ground, in an unfamiliar place, knowing nothing but the pain that threatened to overtake her. She'd soon blacked out, only to wake up again in the hospital once again inhabiting her seventeen year old body.

"You're welcome, glad I could help improve the aesthetic of your shirt, always happy to help." Mac went with snark, yet another of her factory default settings, "Anything for a _friend_."

"Friend?" Dick said, his tone indicating that he took umbrage to that word choice.

"Well, yeah."

"So, we took a step back then?" Dick asked. He backed up a little, his movements accentuating his words. "Look, I do love you, I just got freaked when you said it first, and well, yeah then Friday happened. That actually might be what convinced me I might love you, too."

Mac's eyes got wide, her heart dropped. She didn't know what the tension that popped up between her and Dick in this bizzaro world was, but she hadn't seen the neon sign saying they'd been in a serious relationship. "Love!?" she couldn't keep the incredulous tone from snaking around the word.

"You don't love me then?" Dick's expression reminded her of child finding out for the first time that there wasn't really an Easter bunny, fantasies shattering, cold hard reality setting in.

She felt guilty, like she was leading him on, which was an unfair accusation to cast upon herself. She decided to go with honestly, to a degree.

"Look Dick, I'm not the same person I was then," he had no clue the truth in that sentence.

He didn't look convinced, however.

"Obviously, we both have things to work through, if you freaked at a tiny four letter word," she pushed on.

"Not that tiny," he argued.

"Let's just rewind to before that conversation, and see what happens."

"Take it slow? Will you still suck me off, at least?" Dick looked lost, like a tourist without a map.

Mac just glared at him.

"I'll return the favor, of course," he said to sweeten the deal a little bit. Dick sighed, and then bit his bottom lip. He kicked the edge of the rug he was standing on. "Alright," he said at long last. "If it keeps us together, I'll let you define us. It's not any different than it always is with us."

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly what I said it did, Madi. We always follow your lead."

"You don't want to follow me this time?"

"No, that's not what I said," Dick said irritably. "You have a cute ass; I'd follow that ass almost anywhere. I just wanted it on record, you've never been the beta in our relationship—you're one alpha chick, the Queen Bee. However, I have one more thing for you to think about as you try to decide how to classify me, because I know you've got to catalog every-fucking-thing."

Instead of making a verbal argument though, his topic for her consideration was more demonstrative in nature.

Dick moved in toward Mac, who hadn't moved from her spot up against the door. He placed his hand gently under her chin to guide her head up just a bit, then happy with that angle, he moved his hand so it cupped her butt, and he leaned his head down, their lips meeting.

Mac's left-ruled brain called out to push him away, but her hands refused that request. Instead, she drew him closer, opening her mouth to his probing tongue. One hand went north, tangling his hair, pushing him deeper into her, the other went south, cupping his surfer butt. His tongue explored the terrain, while his hands found her breasts. A moan built up and leaked out at his touch. She arched her head back against the door. It had been too achingly long since she'd been kissed, even longer since she'd been kissed that deeply. That tingly feeling was back, and it was vibrating stronger than it had on Monday when she responded to his heat filled look in Mrs. Murphy's homeroom. She'd dismissed that as just emotional transference from being thrust into this new world, but this, this was something else entirely. What though, she didn't have a clue, but in this atom of time it didn't matter.

Dick drew back suddenly and Mac felt bereft. "What the hell?" she bit out.

"It occurred to me that mommy and daddy Sinclair might not enjoy catching me playing tonsil hockey in their hallway."

Mac was confused and it showed on her face.

"Garage door," Dick explained, pointing in the general direction of the mud room. It was only in that moment she heard the low far-off mechanical rumble.

Dick took an index finger, tracing her kiss-swollen lips and gently moved her over so he could leave the same way he'd come. He said good-bye, and left. Mac shut the door, and then leaned against it. Her lips were still reliving the kiss.

**_…_****_TBC_**

**_***So, what did you think? Loved it? Hated it? M'eh? Reviews are always appreciated!_**


	8. Chapter 8--Girlfriend in a Coma

**_A/N: Any fans of The Smiths? This title came from their song of the same name. So, this is a Dick chapter, "present" time (AKA 2009). Drama is about to "blow in from the North." Enjoy! Thank you so much for continuing to read, review, follow & favorite this story. I'm having the best time writing this story & reading your thoughts and theories. Please keep 'em coming…Potty mouth warning is in effect! Thanks to my wonderful & creative beta, cainc3!  
_**

**_Obligatory Disclaimer: Nope, don't own anything in the VM 'verse nor The Smiths songs (& lyrics) referenced in here..._**

**_Chapter 8—Girlfriend in a Coma_**

**_Dick's POV_**

**_June 6_****_th_****_, 2009—Neptune Memorial Hospital, 3_****_rd_****_ floor ICU waiting room._**

The newer, nicer blue chairs of this waiting room weren't any softer on Dick's butt, at least not after waiting two hours for another, hopefully more detailed, update on Mac's condition. Fortunately, though, this time he had Logan there to keep him company. It softened things, a little bit at least.

Mrs. Mac was getting restless, but leaving the area wasn't an option in her mind—or his either. No, he was in this for the long haul, the hell of it was that he didn't have a frakking clue how long, well _long _was going be!

Dick watched her frequently get up to pace, or to inquire at the nurses' station, or to go over to the large bank of windows on the far wall that overlooked the roof of the Emergency Room wing below. Sam seemed content to follow in his wife's footsteps, as though he couldn't bear for her to be out of his sight. Ryan was pretending to be interested in an old copy of _Wired_ magazine. A title he was no doubt familiar with being that he was the younger sibling of a computer hacker. Mac had probably subscribed to that magazine since her elementary days; Dick figured while he was reading _Ranger Rick_ she had probably taught herself C++.

Logan nudged him out of his reverie.

"What dude?"

"I'm going to get some more coffee. Want anything?"

"Sure. A Venti, black of their strongest shit. Thanks." He stopped himself from ordering a Venti soy chai latte, as well. It was Mac's go-to order, and one he'd placed on her behalf more than a few times. The _wrongness _of being here, drinking a cup of coffee while she was there, not enjoying anything, swept over him.

"_Venti, black, shit_, got it," Logan repeated. "No problem." He worked his way down the row, getting Mac's family's drink orders as well.

Dick estimated that it was his third trip to the lobby coffee kiosk, but it kept Logan busy and he, himself, heavily caffeinated—so, _win-win_. Whatever the hell got them through today was all that mattered. Pacing worked for Mrs. Mac, reading dumb magazines helped Ryan, getting coffee was Logan's mission, Dick, on the other hand, still hadn't found anything to keep himself focused. He tried a little of everything, but his brain was so overloaded he felt like a toddler that couldn't decide which toy to play with. He supposed some people (Mac!) might say he was toddler-esque on "normal" days, and today was certainly anything but that. The three gallons of coffee in a span of one hundred twenty minutes probably wasn't helping his cause either.

Last they'd heard, Mac was being settled into a room in the ICU, then the team of doctors would review her test results, agree on a plan of action, and only then would they update the family again.

How the **_fuck_** long did that take?

Mrs. Mac was now wearing a blue plastic ID bracelet on her left wrist. It was part of a new program Neptune Memorial's ICU had implemented that appointed one family member as "point person," they had 24 hour visiting privileges, meaning they had the right to come and go outside of visiting hours, and were even able to spend the night in the patient's room. Mrs. Mac—Nat!—had elected herself before anyone else in her family had the chance.

Mrs. Mac, it still felt weird calling her Nat, was restless waiting for her turn to see her baby. He figured that was probably why she was wearing down the carpet in the waiting area.

No one had been allowed in yet, including her, which just made things worse in Dick's mind. He tried to picture what she'd look like after enduring all the poking and prodding the last several hours. He figured tubes and shit would be sticking out of her in all kinds of weird places.

Imagining things always made it worse somehow.

After Cassidy jumped, he'd had a lot of images that seared inside him, ripping, tearing and scarring. Paramedics had scooped Cass's body into a black body bag and no one outside those members of the death squad had ever seen the highly damaged remains of his brother. Dick just didn't see how the reality could have been worse than the soupy, pulpy aftereffect he couldn't scrub out of the dark recesses of his twisty imaginings. Alcohol wasn't a powerful enough cleaning agent for that job.

The scent of fresh coffee wafted over to him as Logan came back with a cardboard tray filled with takeout cups.

He sent an eviction notice to those images in his head of Mac on a bed a few thousand feet away from him, connected to tubes—he much preferred remembering her the way she was that morning, before the accident even happened. The sun catching her highlights, her standard issue smirk she wore just for him, and that very brief flicker of happiness that seeing him would induce, until, of course, she had the chance to shut that operation down.

Yeah, he totally noticed.

Dick grabbed the hot coffee from Logan's outstretched hand, taking care to grab it on the paper sleeve so the heat wouldn't seep into his finger tips. He murmured his thanks and took a big sip. It burned the roof of his mouth, but he barely paid attention. As he drank it, the caffeine percolated through his body. The act itself of drinking the coffee gave him a way to occupy his hands, something to do in this empty space of waiting, this purgatory they were all dwelling in.

Mrs. Mac—Nat's—phone seemed to be straining under the weight of all the call volume of well-wishers just now hearing about Mac's accident. The majority were extended family members who cared, but had to do so from a distance. Dick had overheard Nat talking to Keith Mars—Veronica's dad. He was a good dude, though he knew Keith (he'd always think of as Sheriff Mars) and Logan hadn't always been the best of friends. That was a common side-effect of dating someone's daughter.

There was one strange call that had especially caught his attention. It had come through approximately fifteen minutes after they'd moved into this new waiting area, Nat had listened to whatever the mystery caller was saying, and then muttered to hang on, she had to find a more secluded spot. Dick watched as Mr. Mac leaned in closer to his wife so he could hear both sides of the conversation, too. That wasn't actually the part he thought was odd, it was more the hyper aware way Mr. and Mrs. Mac kept sneaking looks at Ryan as they sat on the uncomfy chairs listening to the mystery caller.

Finally Nat got up, phone in hand, Mr. Mac trailing behind her like a really bad stalker. Dick watched them retreat around the corner, out of viewing range. They came back about five minutes later, Nat wiping her eyes with the hand that wasn't clutching her husband's. They sat back down in the same chairs. Ryan looked up briefly from his magazine and asked his mom who that was she'd been talking to. She muttered something about Aunt Linda or whatever, but she refused to look at Ryan when she said that.

The thing about that exchange that terrified Dick was what if the Mac's knew more about "Cindy's" condition than they were letting on.

Logan was still handing out the cups of coffee from his last run downstairs. Dick watched him hand off an extra big cup to Nat, who was back to standing by the window, looking down on the roof. She smiled at him and accepted it gratefully, walking back to the bank of chairs. She leaned over Sam to see what magazine had Ryan occupied—another back issue of _Wired_.

Dick continued to drink his coffee and watch the people around him, not just their group of purgatory dwellers but the old woman across the room knitting, or the man three seats away from their group dressed like a banker in his gray suit and horn rimmed glasses, clutching his cell phone like a lifeline.

He didn't even try to figure out why they were spending this hellish hot Tuesday in the stifling air conditioned room, it was obviously for the same underlying reason he and the Mackenzies were, someone they cared for was too close on that precipice between living and dying. Mac would've been sympathetically listening to other peoples' tales of woe, sharing hers, too. For someone who embraced the misanthropic label like a badge, Mac spent an awful lot of time showing how much she cared about others'.

A doctor, dressed in a similar set of blue scrub "pajamas" as the one in the ER, walked into the waiting area, lingering at the doorway. All conversation stalled out, everyone looking up at him as if following cue cards.

"Family of Cindy Mackenzie," the guy said in a loud, deep voice that seemed at war with his lanky build. He was a different member of Mac's team of doctors. He saw the family and friends of other ICU patients visibly deflate, they would be lingering longer in their states of doubt.

"That's," Mr. Mac started to say, then cleared his throat before continuing, "um us. I'm her dad." He stood up, clutching Nat's hand, pulling her to her feet in one swift movement. They seemed to move in tandem over to the doctor, Ryan just behind them.

Dick got up out of his chair forcing his feet to obey the order his brain (his Motherboard as Mac would call it ) handed down. Logan got up to join their group, too. They all congregated by the doctor, who was still framed in the doorway.

"I'm Dr. Pence, another member of your daughter's team. My specialty is trauma and plastic surgery. I'm just going to speak freely, if that's okay."

Nat nodded, but the doctor ploughed through not really stopping for anyone to say anything.

"She regained consciousness briefly, but she's unconscious once again. The scans show two areas of bleeding. One is from the primary spot of impact; her skull is also fractured in the location that the baseball struck her. The secondary area is on the opposite side of her brain. This isn't unusual; her brain was bounced around quite a bit in the aftermath of the impact."

"Fractured," Nat echoed. It was gasp of a thing.

It was a scary thing to think about, a broken head, and a bleeding brain.

"It's a closed fracture though; it's a very serious injury of course, but not as bad as it could've been. Our goal, the next few days, is to stop the bleeding. Surgery may be one option, but. Honestly, I'd like to take a 'wait and see' approach."

"So, you're going to sit there as my daughter wastes away?" It was Sam. Dick saw the anger residing on his face, heard it in the way he bit those words out. "Twiddle your thumbs maybe? Play _Sudoku_ in the break room, and just hope she gets better?"

"Sam!" Mrs. Mac, Nat, said sharply, full of censure. Dick watched her jab her husband in his big belly with her sharp, bony elbow. She didn't appear to be holding back. He winced at the contact, but wouldn't back down. "This is the guy who is taking care of our daughter."

Dick agreed with Mrs. Mac, it didn't seem like a great plan to piss the doctor off. The guy didn't seem pissed though; evidently he was used to angry families, undoubtedly an occupational hazard in his line of work.

"No, nothing like that, I assure you. We will be putting her in a sleep state for the next several days, and we have already started giving her a course of _Mannitol_, a drug that can often decrease the pressure on her brain. We'll be giving her that via IV for the next several days."

"A coma?" Ryan asked, echoing Dick's own thoughts exactly. "Is that what you mean by a 'sleep state'?"

"Yes, we'll be putting Cindy in a medically induced coma, to assure she remains unconscious. We'll be repeating the scans periodically, monitoring the progress very carefully. We will know in probably 72 hours if this will be successful. In the meantime, there is one other thing to keep in mind…" The doctor's voice trailed off.

Sam took a deep breath and opened his mouth, but Nat beat him to it. "What's that?" She once again grabbed her husband's hand, squeezing its life-force.

"The next 24 hours are critical. I've seen people in her age group with much more severe injuries make a full recovery, but it's important that you are prepared for all contingencies."

"Cindy could die?" Ryan asked, or maybe just flatly replied, Dick wasn't really sure what all his tone carried. Nat let go of her hand-breaking grip on Mr. Mac and drew her son into her arms, hugging him fiercely. Dick had no clue if she was giving or taking comfort, he rather suspected it was both in equal measure. She whispered something in Ryan's ear.

Neither Dick nor Logan said anything during the whole exchange, though he knew the conversation was now seared into the recesses of his memory. It was enough that he was allowed to listen in. He didn't think Mrs. Mac would want to repeat any part of that conversation, especially not any more than the 500 times she would have to anyway for the requisite daughter-in-a-coma phone chain. Her phone would probably spontaneously combust!

"The other doctor said something about being able to see her," Mr. Mac was saying.

"Yes, she can have visitors. Like I mentioned, Cindy isn't conscious right now, but studies have shown that coma patients have some base awareness of their surroundings. Talk to her like she's awake, talk to her like you expect a response. Visits have to be limited though, no more than ten minutes, and only one person at a time." Dr. Pence explained. Then, seeing Mrs. Mac's bracelet, he directed the last bit to her, he continued. "You can come and go outside of visiting hours, and a nurse can bring you a blanket if you want to sleep in the chair by her bed."

"Can I see her now?" Mrs. Mac/Nat asked immediately.

"I'll have a nurse come get you; it'll be about ten minutes."

"Thanks Dr. Pence," Nat replied, her tone flat, her eyes wet.

Those _ten minutes_ turned into thirty and Mac's mom was still waiting.

She looked terrified when the nurse finally came to escort her back to the bowels of the ICU. It was about to get real for her, _real _quick. Dick saw her gripping Mr. Mac's arm like he was the only one who could prevent her from drowning. Her big green eyes were still shiny with those unshed tears. Maybe she didn't want to be crying in front of Mac, just in case…Or maybe she thought once she started they wouldn't stop. He was a little too intimately acquainted with that concept.

Dick watched her follow the nurse through the obstacle course of blue chairs lining the waiting room, and then out into the hall of the ICU until they disappeared.

Logan was still occasionally sipping from his now-cold coffee, the fingers gripping the cup tapping out a rhythm—he was trying to send up an **_SOS_**.

"This is a fucking waste of time," Ryan yelled, after his mom had been gone less than four minutes. He threw the _Wired_ magazine down, Dick half-expected to see him stomp on it. It had all the markings of what could end up being an impressive temper tantrum.

Mr. Mac turned to his son, pulled him in and hugged him. No censure for his language or anything, instead he seemed to whisper his agreement.

Dick admitted to himself that he agreed with the kid, he was feeling pretty damn useless himself. He was sorely lacking in the medical degree department. His dad had always been the type to go do something, anything, fill every second of awake time rather than sit idly by, after all there was always a big freaking sea of victims to cheat, savings accounts to drain, marks to con, his time meant someone else's hard-earned money. Dick wasn't his dad—by design—but the desire to do something, any-fucking-thing was ingrained. He didn't linger in bed in the morning, not when he could be out on the waves. This sitting here in hell, doing nothing while Mac was chained down by wires, tubes doing who knew what, engaged in the fight of her life—_literally_—it was pulling at him.

The wait to go in to see her daughter was about five times longer than the actual visit itself. Just over ten minutes later, yes, Dick was counting down to the second; Mrs. Mac came back into the waiting room, deflated, shoulders down, not looking up at anyone. She walked straight to her son, who stood up; he seemed convinced his mom was the bearer of the worst news ever. She engaged him in a fierce, bone crunching hug; Dick was straining to hear the tell-tale cracking sound.

Evidently Mr. Mac shared the same thought his son did, because he went over to his remaining family, and very gently put his big hand under his wife's chin and lifted it up so he could take in the tear trails lining her face like wrinkles.

"She's…stable," Nat managed to get out between the sobs that overtook her once again. Dick revised his earlier theory about her crying herself out. They were replenished by now. "That was not…that girl in there can't be my…baby." Her sentenced ended on a wail.

Her husband pulled her into his big chest, and Ryan hovered patting his mom's back tentatively. Dick was watching from his chair, his ass numb from just sitting the whole day long.

A sharp elbow to the ribs brought him out of his voyeuristic state. Logan was the owner of the bony, pointy elbow.

"What the hell, dude? I'm going to have that thing dulled," Dick hissed in his ear. "Cut that bony thing clean off."

"Let's just give them some time alone, get coffee or something." Logan ignored the _threat_.

"I've already had enough to stay awake for a week, man. We can go to the cafeteria or something instead, get some dinner we won't eat."

Logan nodded in agreement, and they both turned to leave when Mrs. Mac's voice stopped them, it was still tenuous but was stronger than it had been. "You guys want to see her?"

Dick stopped immediately and whirled around; he figured his face gave all his thoughts away for free. "Sure," he tried to sound casual, but wasn't feeling that way at all. The need to just touch her was overwhelming his circuits. He clearly remembered the 'immediate family only' clause, but who was he to argue, if Mrs. Mac wanted to take on the Nurse Ratchets of Neptune Memorial then that was her prerogative. He was seeing lots of flashes of Mac in her mom, or vice versa really. Her looks, however, must have been a really recessive gene—Mr. Wu would've been proud of him for remembering that term—but the personality, yup, Mac had a lot of her mom in her.

"Okay, why don't you guys grab something to eat while Sam is in there, and then, when you guys get back, I'll sneak all you back there. Logan, Dick, would you guys mind taking Ryan with you?"

Ryan's protest died before it was born once he saw his mom's expression, evidently you didn't argue with Mrs. Mac—her daughter was a proud beneficiary of that trait, too.

"Come on, let's go sample the five star cuisine of the Neptune Café, It takes me back to the blush of my youth, rubber chicken fried steak with limp green beans—good eats," Logan snarked as he rubbed his belly as though in anticipation of the institutional meal.

As they walked out of the waiting room, Dick took a quick peek over his shoulder as Sam and Nat continued their embrace. Then, she pulled away, saying something to her husband in the process. He turned back around and jogged a little to catch up to Ryan and Logan who were almost at the elevator bank by then. Ryan jabbed the down button.

Nobody said much as they made their way to the café. Dick grabbed a tray and made his side and dessert selections, before stopping at the stir fry station. After choosing his ingredients, he waited for the guy behind the counter to make it in a giant wok. When done, it was nested on a bed of Jasmine rice then handed across the station to his outstretched hand. It smelled delicious, though Dick knew he'd end up wasting more than half of it.

His stomach was this hardened rock of a place now, didn't think he'd be able to squeeze much in the way of food in there. It started getting all gravelly from the second the baseball connected with Mac's head, and only progressed as the interminable waiting period climbed higher and higher. He squinched his eyes shut too many times to count that day, he kept seeing the accident over and over again, his own personal hell of a _Groundhog Day_. He wished, fervently, he could unsee the whole chain of events; sadly it didn't work that way.

Dick turned around and saw both of his dinner companions waiting in the hot entrée section of the massive cafeteria. Logan selected the meatloaf platter. Ryan had found a sandwich. They all made their way through the line, paying and, by tacit agreement, they selected a table at the back by the bank of windows looking over the parking lot.

The first few minutes, after they sat down, were spent in silence as they picked at their chosen meals, then once they started talking, conversation was a stilted affair full of starts and stops and empty words. Finally, though after what was most likely only ten minutes but felt simultaneously shorter and longer than that, Logan brought up the time he hooked Mac into doing his business class homework for him freshman year at Hearst.

He made several pointed digs at Dick while still keeping the focus mainly on Mac.

Dick smiled as he listened, a real one, and only his second genuine one of the day, the first one of course being when he'd spotted Mac on the bleachers right before her accident. There was a common denominator there—Mac.

He traveled back in time to the day Logan was recapping. He'd wanted to stay and lend his "posterior expertise" to the website—_grade my ass_ dot net—but Mac had made it clear, his business acumen was not appreciated. He'd ended that evening at a party, talking to a washed-up has-been of a rock star who had reached the level of man-whoredom he could only dream of.

Ryan was laughing at Logan's characterization of his sister and her computer wizardry.

Dick was grateful that Logan skipped the whole Max subscript to that tale. He'd never liked that dweeby punk, but it took a long time to realize his simmering dislike was more green-tinged than anything else.

Max and Mac's relationship had been on the brink of implosion sophomore year when she had finally started tolerating being around Dick for more than five minute increments. Veronica had run off to Stanford by then, entertaining unrealistic fantasies of living a normal life after her Neptunian upbringing.

Next, Ryan launched into a couple stories about Mac when she was in high school, in particular the time she got into a fight on the bus. Some bitch named Hadley _something_—Dick couldn't even remember her—had been picking on Mac the whole year, and finally sick of it, she had tried to call her bluff. The plan had backfired, though, and she'd ended up with a black eye out of the deal, and a new nickname, Scrappy Doo, after she hit Hadley back even harder, almost breaking her nose in the process.

"Scrappy Doo is the perfect name for your sister," Dick remarked. "I've been on the receiving end of more than a few of her punches. She hits hard, for a chick. In fact, I've got a couple bruises from her."

"I think she likes it better than her other Scooby-Doo inspired nickname," Ryan explained. "We use to watch Scooby Doo together, when I was younger, so I started calling her Velma when she would launch into one of her _geek-i-fied_ lectures."

They all laughed at the accuracy of that new name and launched into more Mac stories, especially ones that supported that nickname. Logan shared Mac's link to the Purity test, which was news to both Dick and Ryan. The senior Mackenzie's had never known the entire story behind their daughter's new ride; they'd believed she'd saved up for it teaching senior citizens how to turn on a computer. Listening to Logan outline how she'd managed to bilk classmates for her car fund (himself included), Dick had to admit he was impressed. He'd always known she smart—much more than he was, but that took it to another level entirely, something more akin to cleverness. Logan and Mac had evidently grown closer than he'd suspected, because Logan explained she'd narc'ed on herself about the purity test. If she had been anyone else though, Dick would have assumed she'd been after the street-cred.

The clock on the far wall caught Dick's eye, the visiting hour window was quickly reaching its endpoint. He pointed out the time and everyone got up to throw out the remains of their picked-over meals.

Quietness stole over the group once again as they rode back up to the 3rd floor. The knowledge that he'd soon be seeing Mac, and she would be too fucking still, smacked him upside the head. He'd be off thinking of something else entirely, then the image of Mac smirking would pop in his mind, and the baseball came out of thin air to erase it.

What if she was never the same again? What if she was…_never _again…He couldn't even think about the word, let alone the not-so-abstract concept behind it. After Cass died, it had ceased being abstract.

He was giving himself mental whiplash—laughing, joking, being painfully _normal_ then suddenly the winds shifted, and reality slipped its noose around him, strangling him back into this new kind of surreal reality. This was a moment his vodka-ized water bottle was born for.

Mr. Mac was in the waiting room when they got back. He hefted his bulk out of the chair to stand up when they strode over to him.

"Nat is in there now," Sam started, his voice cracking under the strain. "Look, Cindy is unconscious, and there's a big, white gauze bandage around her head, and she's hooked to monitors and an I.V. So just be prepared. This is just a temporary state. My girl is a fighter." The last bit cost him a lot to say, it was obvious.

Mr. Mac herded them back out of the waiting room and out into the sterile, institutionalized hallway. They walked in the opposite direction of the bank of elevators, towards the set of double doors at the end of the hall. The sign above proclaimed ICU in big bold letters. Dick watched him push through with authority. They all followed, no one saying much, just the occasional squeak of their rubber soled shoes on the over-washed gray floors.

Things came alive when they pushed open the doors and arrived on the other side. High pitched beeps from monitors and machines working triple time to keep their patient in the land of the living, nurses and doctors barking out orders to each other at the big center desk, crying from emotionally-drained family members who sneaked into the hall to get away from the people who inspired their tears to begin with.

Mr. Mac led them straight to room 305; Mac's new home for the foreseeable future.

They lingered at the door, Dick peeking in, sneaking glances—the entire front wall was glass so it was easier to fully monitor things. Mr. Mac went over to his wife, whispered something to her and then pointed towards the doorway. Dick saw her get up, making a brief stop-over by the bed and leaned in to kiss Mac's cheek.

Mrs. Mac gave them all a weak smile and bullet-pointed the same stuff her husband had already covered.

Ryan went in first. Dick and Logan, by unspoken agreement—maybe it was mind-meld shit—walked further down the ICU wing so Ryan could have some one-on-one time with his sister.

Dick could feel one of the nurses tracking his movements. He knew he had a nice ass, but somehow didn't think that was the inspiration for this CIA spy mission, it was more of the distrust variety. _Damn college kids and their party-harty ways, they might throw a raver in the middle of the hospital!_ He caught her eye and grinned, watching her tentatively smile back before picking up a file in front of her and suddenly finding it engrossing. _Ha, busted_!

By the time Logan and Dick circled back to Mac's room, Ryan was already back in the hall chatting with his parents. Mr. Mac waved and indicated he was going back to the waiting room, taking his son with him. Mrs. Mac was just about to say something when the same nurse who had been tracking Dick's movement with suspicion came up to them.

"I'm sorry, but we have a strict policy here of family only," she said, in what seemed like a whiny tone to Dick.

Mrs. Mac opened her mouth to say something in reply—a lie or to argue, Dick wasn't sure which—when a second nurse came up to their group. He hadn't noticed her before, but assumed she had probably been hiding somewhere behind the center desk. She had short cropped black hair with thick platinum highlights, and a quick smile. Something about her put Dick at ease, she almost seemed like an older version of Mac really, somewhat in looks but mostly in her underlying attitude.

"Thanks Marie, I've got this. I already told Cindy's family the rules of the floor. I'll be sure to go over them again though."

"Oh, okay, Tara, I just wanted to make sure you dotted all the "I's"."

"I did, the "T's" are taken care of, too."

The cool nurse—Tara—waited until Nurse Ratchet (Marie) was out of ear shot, then she said, "Policy is for suckers. I don't give a crap who you let in to see Cindy, I figure the more fans she has, the better. I've read all the studies, but more important, I've been working here too long, I've seen it all. For the sake of policy though, just tell me you're the freaking Duggar family and these are all your kids." She used her hands as she spoke, including air quotes when she made the joke about the big-ass reality show family.

"That's right, I have a lot of kids," Mrs. Mac rejoined, playing along. She, too, used air quotes.

"Good, that's settled, I don't need birth certificates. I am a strict enforcer of the five to ten minutes at a time rule, however. I guess I do follow some policies of my employer. I'm also a firm believer in positive thinking only. I love my patients, but I want them here with me for as short of a period as possible. I want them to move on to a private room on another floor, then leave this place forever, leading a happy, healthy life. I have seen a positive attitude work miracles, so save your dark thoughts for the waiting room. Happy shiny stuff **_only_** around my patient, got it?"

Yeah, Dick totally liked Nurse Tara, and the more she opened her mouth the more she reminded him of Mac, that quiet rebel bit that pulled something deep inside him.

After the nurse went back to her station to continue to keep an eye on Mac's vitals and presumably run interference with nurse Ratchet should the situation warrant it, Dick nominated himself as her next visitor. Mrs. Mac gave him a pat on the shoulder, and told him she'd keep an eye on the time for him.

He took a deep breath, walked through the threshold of room 305, telling himself he could do this, it wouldn't be that bad, and then he totally froze.

_ET_. She looked like _ET_. Mac, his Mac, looked like _ET_. That was his first thought, and second, and third, wholly-inappropriate, but yeah, it's what went through his mind as he took in the tubes going in and out of her, the I.V. stuck in her right hand, the one electrode they were able to stick on her heavily bandaged and turbaned head. _E_ fucking _T—_that movie alien from before he was even born. His dad made him and Cassidy watch it when he was maybe all of 6, Cass was barely 5. Big Dick had started "man lessons" on his sensitive younger son practically from the cradle. Truthfully, the cuddly alien freaked the crap out of Dick, but he knew how to hide that fact, Cass did not and that's why he'd worn the red bull's eye on his back from the womb.

He took another breath, counted to ten, then pasted on a smile, because that's what Casablancas' always did. He walked over to Mac's bed, staying on the side with fewer wires. He picked up her non-IV pierced hand and held it.

"Hey, Mac-a-doodle, it's me, Dick. You've got to beat this thing. Stay and fight here, Scrappy Doo. I totally stole that nickname from your brother, by the way. Nice little dude. I really like your family. I'd suggest a trade, but I think you probably want to keep them. I see where you get your 'tude—that's Mrs. Mac all the way." He closed his eyes as he just kept up a running commentary, seeing her like she was this morning, before…yeah, just before. "Logan is out there, I see him pacing the hall. He's a bobcat, that one. He's not so patiently waiting to see you. Yes, I poached another nickname. Oh, Ronnie is on her way down from Stanford. I didn't think we'd ever get Neptune's Prodigal daughter back here again. You have some serious mojo there, Mac. Oh, and I totally used _prodigal _correctly. It's your influence, and my word of the day calendar, too."

The room was cold; Dick could feel goose bumps rising on his arms. With the hand not tethered to Mac, he took the blanket loosely covering her and tugged it up further over her. He wasn't sure how sensitive she'd be to temperature in her current state, but he didn't like the idea of her being cold. He hoped, and not for the first time, that she was oblivious to the pain of her injuries.

A couple minutes and several inane comments and silly jokes later, Mrs. Mac knocked on the window to let him know time was up. He said goodbye and leaned down to kiss her cheek. Not really the first kiss he'd been dreaming about for—well, longer than he would admit to—but then this wasn't the venue he'd imagined either.

Logan went in next, but he was there for all of three minutes. Dick could just picture him telling her all about the conversation with Ronnie. He didn't need to be a fly on that wall to know what topics of one-sided conversation went on during his visit—make that topic, singular.

One phone call was all it had taken for his _BFF _to topple head-first back into his Veronica-addiction. He could only guess what tomorrow would bring, when they'd be in the same room.

With that all wrapped up, they went back out to the waiting room where Mrs. Mac talked them into going home for the night. She tapped into her mom-magic, making a case for them needing a good night's sleep because if they were sick themselves they wouldn't be able to visit Mac and she needed their support right now. He kind of thought she needed to follow her own advice, but he knew fuck-all about the proper way to talk to a mom, so he just nodded and said his good-byes to everyone.

Out in the parking lot, Logan suggested they just take his car back to the Grand, leaving Dick's in the hospital parking lot. Soul-weary and exhausted, Dick didn't try to argue, plus the hospital lot hardly seemed like a high crime area.

Fifteen minutes later, he dragged himself, geriatric-style, into the suite, letting the door slam behind him. He made his way to his bedroom, slammed that door as well, and gave into the emotions of the day.

At one point, Logan knocked on his door to check on him. He managed to hit the pause button just long enough to mutter he was _okay, thanks, go away_. Logan hesitated a little bit, before leaving. Dick could tell from his roommate's footfall. That was the beauty in their friendship, the innate ability they both shared to read the other one, they knew when to heed what was said, and when not to. Right now, Dick couldn't face the idea of being around anyone else. He cried for himself, for Mac, most of all for Cassidy, and what was what could have been, and what would never be. The tears fell faster and harder when he realized there was a chance Mac could lose her fight, too.

When the tears had dried up, he grabbed his backpack, digging around until he found the vodka-ized water bottle. He made quick work of it. It did its duty—finally—and he fell into a deep sleep.

He woke up to the sun invading the small crack in his curtains and a pick-ax of a hangover headache burrowing itself deep into the recesses of his head. He'd mentally whine about the pain, but it didn't take long for images of Mac getting hit by a baseball to flash through his memory bank. It put things in enough perspective that he barely gave his own throbby ache another thought. He creakily got out of bed and slowly trekked his way into the en-suite bathroom to palm a handful of _Advil_.

Once his headache eased itself out, Dick grabbed the first shirt and shorts he saw, not really caring what he wore, just eager to get back to the hospital and spend another day in purgatory. The doctor's vaguely worded warning echoing in his head, that the first 24 hours were critical, she hung on a precipice.

It was now June 7th, but this day wasn't going to be any better than yesterday. Usually he had a sense of relief, the awareness of having survived the horror of Cassidy's death all over again, and it carried over, bleeding into the next day and somehow ended up being a comfort he could cling to, but he lost that ability the second the ball connected with Mac's head.

When he went out into the living room Logan was already up and ready for the day. He had a fresh pot of coffee on the table, and was laughing at the episode of _Phineas & Ferb_ on TV. They exchanged mumbled greetings and Logan pointed to the coffee. Dick grabbed the other cup Logan had put out and poured himself a cup of the sludgy brew. It was pretty much liquid mud, but it was caffeinated liquid mud so he didn't really care.

After choking down the entire cup they left the room and headed back to Logan's Xterra, the same banana yellow SUV monstrosity that he'd had since his Neptune High days.

As they headed toward the hospital Dick started singing softly "_Girlfriend in a Coma…I know, I know it's serious…Girlfriend in a coma…I know, I know it's really serious."_

Risking a quick glance at Dick instead of the road, Logan gave him the side eye. "What the hell?"

"It's called singing."

"Oh, thanks for the explanation. I didn't actually know what to call that abomination, I'd say of a good song, but that's _emo_ shit if I ever heard it."

"It's _The Smiths_."

"Again, I say, _emo_ shit."

"They didn't have the term _emo_ back then," Dick corrected.

"Okay, pre-_emo_, _emo_-shit."

Honestly, what Logan so eloquently called '_emo_-shit' got him through the worst period of his life. He'd never even liked the Smiths until one day about a month Cassidy died. He was dial surfing and found some kind of New Wave 80s punk station, _How Soon is Now_ was on. The raw emotion of it sucked him in, especially the line "I'm the son and the heir of nothing in particular." He could have written that line, his family was the inspiration for it.

"I also find your use of the term 'girlfriend' significant," Logan was saying. Again, he sneaked a quick glance at Dick, presumably to gage his reaction. Then he pulled his eyes back on the road ahead.

"Once again, dude, since you are obviously hard-of-hearing, it's a SONG," Dick said, his voice rising at the end. "I didn't write the lyrics."

"But you could have," Logan said reflectively.

"Mac and I are friends, real friends, true friends from my perspective, pseudo if you ask her, but the common denominator is we are friends. She's a girl, yes, so only in the sense we're friends and she's a girl would the term girl friend be accurate."

"So, you noticed, huh?"

"That Mac has boobs? Yes, I might have noticed something to that effect," Dick said dryly. In fact, her boobs—and the rest of her, too—had been starring in his favorite fantasies for the past several months, maybe longer even. Fuck Logan for reading into him!

Dick glanced at the clock on the dash as they turned into the driveway of Neptune Memorial, winding their way to the back parking lot by the main entrance of the massive complex.

Though, truthfully, his stomach was starting to rumble a bit, Dick was in a hurry to get an update on Mac's condition, so they decided to get breakfast at the café afterwards.

They punched the button for the third floor and waited for the elevator doors to open. Dick tapped his foot; his life was a study in waiting these days. At last, the double doors opened with an accompanying ding. They walked in, selected the button for the 3rd floor and just as the doors were closing, a loud female voice called out to them.

"Hold the elevator, please," she said. Dick suspected he knew the owner of that voice, one look at Logan's nervous twist of a smile confirmed his suspicion was correct. Ronnie. He hadn't heard her voice for two years now, but it had burned itself into his memories, though the singe wasn't nearly as penetrating for him as it was for Logan. Naturally!

Logan quickly punched the _door open_ button and the opening got wider. Veronica stepped on, with Wallace on her heels.

She expressed her thanks and then looked up from the ground that she had been studying. There had been a small smile pulling at her lips, but it quickly faded as she looked up into Logan's familiar hazel brown and green flecked eyes.

Everyone mumbled a greeting, short but polite.

Dick noticed a big, white paper bag in her hands, while Wallace was laden down with a big tray of coffee. It smelled much better than the cup O' mud he had earlier that morning. He focused his gaze on the cups, Wallace tracked where his gaze had landed and gave him a look of censure. All that went unnoticed by Logan and Veronica though, who apparently had forgotten there was anyone else on the elevator.

"Travelling with an entourage these days, I see Ronnie," Dick said, mainly to break up the quiet that had infected the small space after their brief greetings.

"Wallace? No, he's my bodyguard," Veronica corrected.

"Mac and I are tight," Wallace said, but he didn't quite contradict Veronica either. "I was shocked when Vee called me in tears to tell me what had happened."

The elevator came to an abrupt stop and the doors yawned open. They walked out of the cramped elevator, following the gray hallway until they arrived at the waiting area.

Mrs. Mac was back in the waiting room, all alone. Her blond hair was tousled, in a bed head kind of way, she usually had every strand artfully arranged. There were faint circles under her eyes, and she was rolling her head around as though to get the kinks out of her neck. The high backed chair next to Mac's bed was probably not conducive for a good night's sleep.

She took one look at Veronica and quickly rose from her chair. Veronica quickly handed off the white bag to Wallace, who was standing right beside her and then met Mrs. Mac halfway. She bent down and fiercely hugged her daughter's best friend. "Veronica, hon, thank you so much for coming. It means the world to all of us."

"Don't thank me," Veronica could barely get the words out. "I couldn't be so far away and, with this whole not knowing…" Her voice wavered.

"Well, anyway, we all know Cindy's a fighter," Mrs. Mac continued. She cleared her throat and then pulled away from Veronica briefly, wiping the tear that had just escaped from the corner of her eye. Then she turned her focus to Wallace, greeting and giving him a brief side hug, avoiding squashing their breakfast, before pulling away.

"That she is," Veronica agreed. "So I brought breakfast. Dad did, actually." She gestured over to Wallace who then held the white bag up, Vanna White/Wheel of Fortune style, before placing the bag on the table so everyone could help themselves. He put the big tray of takeout cups of coffee down beside them.

"Aw, that was kind of him. Please be sure to tell him we appreciate it, hon."

Dick's stomach rumbled again and this time he decided to heed its call. He stuck his hand in the bag and pulled out a chocolate-iced cake donut.

"Thanks," he said over the big bite he'd just taken. Waiting until he was done chewing, Dick turned to Veronica and snarked, "donuts from a cop, how original."

"Good point, it is kind of cliché, and I'd hate for you to have to suffer along with the rest of us commoners," Veronica retorted. She took the donut from Dick's hand that was poised in front of his mouth so he could pop the rest of it in.

"Hey," he protested.

"Bad Dick, no donut," Veronica defended, while everyone else laughed.

He wrested back the rest of the donut and popped it in his mouth. Since Mr. Mac and Ryan were resting up back at their house, there was enough coffee from the stash Wallace and Veronica brought for everyone to have a cup.

As the five of them worked through the bag of donuts and drank their coffee, Mrs. Mac briefly recapped Mac's condition, bringing everyone up to speed. When she got to the bit about the coma, Veronica let out a gasp. Logan's head jerked up and his concerned eyes sought Veronica.

Dick mentally shook his head. He just knew the next few days were going to be interminable, spanning years in merely days.

**_…_****_TBC_**

**_***Loved it? Hated it? M'eh? I'd love to hear about it. Thanks!_**


	9. Chapter 9--On Tiny Gossamer Wings

**_A/N: Another Mac chapter, back in 2004. Thank you so much for all the reviews, including all the wonderful guest reviewers who I haven't been able to thank in a PM, I appreciate each and everyone of you for taking a couple minutes to tell me what you think of this story. And of course thank you to everyone for reading and continuing to read this story, and for the favorites & follows. Much appreciated! Hope you enjoy this next chapter...Lot's more Mac-as-Madison hi-jinx to follow. As always a BIG thank you to my wonderful, patient beta-cainc3!  
_**

**_Obligatory disclaimer: Nope, don't own a thing. I love playing around with Rob Thomas' wonderful VM 'verse though!_**

**_Chapter 9—On Tiny Gossamer Wings_**

Mac was thinking about butterflies when a sudden, jarring, jerk and the sound of metal scraping metal brutally brought her out of her ruminations.

She hadn't been thinking of butterflies in a concrete _aren't they beautiful_ kind of way, instead she was thinking of them in more abstract theoretical terms. Mr. Humphrey, her physics teacher, had started lecturing on the Chaos theory, also known as the more poetic butterfly effect, which, to nut-shell it, was the belief that one little minute thing could disrupt the harmonious balance of the universe. Basically a ripple of butterfly wings could cause a hurricane a half-world away. The Earth was such a delicate balance, that one little thing out of alignment could knock everything off kilter. It seemed like a lot of weight to lie upon tiny gossamer wings, but the core of the theory intrigued her.

Mac couldn't help drawing parallels between those theorems and her strange new existence.

It was going on two weeks now since she'd landed back in her junior year of high school and she still had no clue how long she'd be stranded on this new/old plane of existence.

In the immediate aftermath, Mac looked up in shock to see that she'd T-boned a big tank of a cream colored car, a relic from the late 70s. It barely had a dent, her Cadillac, on the other hand didn't fare as well. It had crumpled in, right at the point of impact. Her head hadn't fared very well either. She felt the start of a vicious migraine building; she'd been getting those with more frequency since she'd received the concussion that had landed her back in time to begin with. She knew the signs by now.

Mac was also intimately familiar with the car she'd just smashed—it was the one she'd driven originally, only this time the screaming, snarling driver was one Madison Sinclair, known now as Cindy Mackenzie. She was actually glad, in this dimension, that Madison, who had been cast into her old life, went as Cindy rather than her own nickname, and identity really, Mac. That would have made things worse, somehow.

Her headache buried itself even deeper. The line was blurred though, was the aching head just merely a souvenir from this new accident, or was the incessant screaming and theatrics of _Cindy_ making things worse. She was certain it was an equation of both factors in nearly equal measure.

_Cindy_ had gotten out of her car, and was now walking around to the driver's side of Mac's car yelling and ranting the whole way about not watching where she's going, right-of-way's, yielding, and stupid '09'ers buying their driver's licenses instead of earning them.

Through the haze of pain from her pounding head, and _Cindy_ yelling, Mac was having trouble concentrating on anything, but she became vaguely aware of the horn honking of the line of cars behind her, classmates eager to leave school grounds and begin their Thanksgiving break.

Soon people started getting out of their cars, embracing the fact that they weren't going to be able to leave anytime soon. The drive was too narrow for most of the SUVs, trucks, and other student owned vehicles to safely pass the accident scene. The crowd was a mix of curious onlookers, concerned friends and acquaintances, and a few people who seemed to take malicious joy in other people's misfortune.

Mac saw her door open. She looked up to see Dick's concerned face peering down at her. Things had been awkward between them since the kiss a week ago. The avoidance phase of their stalemate had ended, but she was still actively thinking up ways to avoid being alone with him. She suspected he had a vague idea of her plan, the way he smirked as he would propose one date idea after another, giving tell to the fact he knew he'd be going down without that blaze of glory.

He reached in and helped pull her up and out of her car after she had assured and reassured him several times that she was okay. She clenched her eyes shut to ride out the tremor of pain that shot through her not yet fully recovered brain.

"What?" Dick barked.

"Nothing, just a little headache, no big deal."

"Actually, it is a big deal if you're still recovering from a concussion to begin with," Dick corrected. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

Then he turned his focus to Jackson who had been hovering on the perimeter, too, standing with an entire little '09'er collective who were busy watching the show. "Watch Madi, make sure she doesn't collapse, or shit," he ordered.

Jackson nodded.

"You don't have to babysit me, I'm fine."

"I know you are, it wasn't anything more than a tap, but just sit here anyway," he guided her to the steep blacktop curb that divided the bank of grass outlining the perimeter of Neptune High and the entrance road. "You know, just in case."

"Are you afraid of Dick?" Mac teased, a twinkle in her eye, despite the pounding in her head.

"A little," Jackson confessed with a smirk. "So, what the hell happened?"

"Butterflies," Mac said.

"What?" He was confused.

"I don't know what happened," Mac said honestly. "One second the space in front of me was clear, I'd just turned onto the main drive from lot B, there was this big gap between me and the next car in front of me, then next thing I know I'd hit a car that, apparently, appeared out of nowhere."

"A car owned by that skank Cindy," Jackson clarified. "So, what do butterflies have to do with anything? Did a giant one fly in front of you and cause you to crash?" He hypothesized.

"I was thinking of butterflies. It's not important, just one of those random things you think about until life crashes into you, literally." Mac said in what she hoped was a dismissive tone. She looked up, scanning the area looking for a flash of shaggy blonde hair.

Dick was by _Cindy's_ car speaking quietly, but obviously heatedly, based on the anger she saw bleeding through his actions. He pointed a finger at her; he leaned inwards a little menacingly. She couldn't hear what he was saying until he yelled the last bit.

"Okay, Cindy, fine, call the cops. I think Balboa's Finest should be involved. Even those inbred idiots should know enough of the law to back up what I've been telling you."

_Cindy_ raised her voice to match Dick's. It was just as whiny as she'd always remembered. "She's the one that hit me."

"That's only because you pulled out in front of her."

Some girl with shoulder length, mousy, brown hair and glasses came up to them, stepping in between Dick and _Cindy_, as though providing body guard services. The look she shot Dick was full of censure.

"Who is the newcomer?" Mac whispered to Jackson.

"Hadley Klein, I think. Some white trash bitch that shadows Cindy around," he explained.

Oh yeah, Klein, that was the last name that had been tugging at Mac's memory. Hadley Klein was the one she'd fought freshman year, on the bus, for calling her _trailer trash_. Her mom, Nat, had always said all bullies were just insecure little kids projecting their own issues onto the people they bullied, but she had always thought that was Dr. Phil psycho-babble. Maybe there was a bit of truth to that, after all.

Watching the three of them continue to go at it, Mac half-expected a fight to erupt, but the arrival of Mr. McCormick—Corndick as everyone called him—the Neptune High security guard, put a halt to any possible violence.

At his summons, Mac got up off the curb and walked over the group. _Cindy_ was pointing to the damage on her antiquated tank, glorified scratch that it was, while Dick was still cutting in and correcting every other thing she said. Corndick—a stupid '09'er moniker that just stuck for some reason—was obviously getting pissed, no one was paying any heed to what he was saying. Mac tried to interject a few times. _Cindy _and Hadley kept honing on the bare fact that Mac was the one that hit her car and ignoring the fact that it was only because she'd pulled out in front of her in the first place.

Finally, bargaining for some kind of stalemate from both sides, Corndick was able to get to the job he truly shined at, directing traffic, which when talking about student drivers, wasn't an easy job. It took _Tetris_ mastery really, angling the cars through the narrow driveway, avoiding the damaged cars.

Mac watched as the crowd slowly dissipated. Since the show was over, and there obviously wasn't going to be a fight erupting, everyone was eager to get home and enjoy the well-earned long weekend.

About five minutes later, a Balboa County Sheriff car pulled up to the now practically empty lot.

Deputy Sacks got out of the car, obligatory government-issued notebook in hand, with his _on the case_ demeanor shining through. Mac had always liked Sacks, he was on the force for the 'right' reasons, because he truly wanted to serve and protect, making him a minority in the rankings of Balboa County's _Finest_. At least in the real world he had never really been the type to be "bought and paid for", she hoped that was still the case. Though a little voice inside reminded her she was the one in this scenario with the deeper pockets, a fact that still wasn't second nature to her. She couldn't help wondering if it ever would be…She truly hoped not.

Yet again, Mac insisted that there weren't any cars in front of her until suddenly she merged with _Cindy's_ bumper. Dick collaborated with her story, though honestly she didn't know if he really was a witness, or if he just said he was. _Cindy_ upped her protests, adding eyelash batting and pouty lips to the equation, hoping to really sell things, but the gestures fell flat with her audience.

Next, Deputy Sacks did his due diligence with this investigative work, whipping out a ruler and a piece of graphing paper to chart the scene by hand. Mac watched him work, a little surprised by his old school ways, it seemed like a waste of energy to her, but a lot was personally riding on his result, so she bit her lower lip as she studied his technique.

The big investigation ended with the best possible scenario, in Mac's viewpoint at least. _Cindy,_ however,was less pleased with the ruling. After Deputy Sacks had left the scene, Dick lingered on the scene with Mac, and Jackson, they were congregating by the Caddy. _Cindy_ and her shadow, Haley, on the other hand, were by_ Cindy's_ car.

"No fair, that bitch and her family ruin everything. It's always been that way," _Cindy_ was wailing.

Mac didn't try to peel her eyes away from the image of Hadley comforting her pissed off, nearly-hysterical friend. She was dramatically gesturing with the hand holding the ticket for failure to yield.

Mac didn't know what she could've meant by the comment about her family ruining everything, but she didn't really want to waste anymore time on anything _Cindy_ said. The only thing that really mattered was that nobody was hurt and neither car was seriously affected. The only real collateral damage, of whatever the hell that "staged accident", was her still achy head and a small dent in the new Caddy. _Cindy's _car was fine, Mac would have said no worse for the wear, but there was a lot of wear on that car way before the "scratch" happened.

After squeezing out her parting shot, _Cindy_ and her token bestie piled into the ancient marvel of automotive know-how and drove off very slowly as though convinced the car would spontaneously combust if driven over 25 MPH. Truthfully, Mac suspected that was a distinct possibility.

Dick drove Mac's Caddy home with his minion, Jackson Douglas, following them in his prized yellow jeep. She launched a litany of complaints the entire drive, to which he first countered them, and then later began to ignore when she started recycling most of her arguments in an infinite loop.

"So, how are you going to hide the evidence?" Dick asked as he pulled into the Sinclair's driveway. He pressed the button on the garage opener, tracking it as it began to slowly rise u[.

The blue Honda Civic Ellen provided for the maid's use—namely to do grocery shopping in—was parked under the basket ball hoop on the opposite end of the drive. Dick had barely avoided hitting it as he angled the car into the courtyard style garage.

"Evidence?" Mac asked, biting her lip as he pulled his gaze back in her direction.

"Uh, the dent, you know, from your accident, which is the only reason I'm driving your crappy piece of American automotive engineering." The garage was otherwise empty. He turned off the engine.

"Crappy American engineering!?" Mac asked incredulously, while simultaneously wondering why she was bothering to defend the Cadillac which was hopefully just a loaner of sorts anyway while she temporarily dwelled in this plane. She wanted her Beetle back! "Isn't that yellow monstrosity hovering on my driveway, probably dripping oil, an example of American engineering, as well?"

"Yes," Dick admitted, "but not of the crappy variety. Jeeps are awesome, and it's certified leak free."

"Certified? Certified by whom?"

"By me," Dick said cockily, like he was automotive savant.

"I think you mean certifiable," Mac corrected with a smirk.

He matched her smirk, and then upped the ante.

They stayed in the car talking for a couple minutes. He'd declined her offer to come in. It seemed to Mac that this was actually the least weird things had been between the two of them since their kiss exactly one week ago, not that she was counting or anything. They talked mainly about people they knew, shared classes, surface stuff, nothing of real consequence, but it was a start, or perhaps in this dimension, a re-start.

After one more brief check in on her headache—still there—he made move to get out of the car, placing his hand on the door handle. Then he shifted a bit, leaning in slightly and Mac expected another kiss, but it never came. Did he change his mind or had she just misinterpreted things? They said good-bye.

Mac got out of the car, but then paused on the steps leading to the house to watch as Dick made quick strides towards his still idling Jeep. As Mac pressed the button to close the garage door, she watched Jackson slid over to the passenger side as Dick gracefully hopped into the driver's side through the window. It was an art he had perfected.

The door closed with a resounding thud, ending the show. Mac sighed, and briefly touched her temple, then entered the house. The smell of freshly baked cookies greeted her. She made her way to the kitchen, where Lucille was diligently kneading some dough, no doubt preparing for tomorrow's Thanksgiving feast.

Mac smiled when she saw Lauren sitting at the table with a half-full glass of milk and a plate of mostly cookie crumbs in front of her.

"Hey, Lauren, hello Lucille," she greeted.

The housekeeper looked up from the dough, and jerked her head in the direction of the stove behind her where a big baking tray of cookies was cooling; Lauren's sampling hadn't even put a dent into it. "Help yourself, doll. They're from a new recipe I found for vegan cinna-melts."

Mac gulped, willing herself not to cry. Finally she croaked out a weak "Thanks," and plated up a few cookies. A wave of homesickness once again broke over her, it was an emotion she was becoming intimately acquainted with these days. Cinna-melts were the exact cookies her mom always put in her lunchbox growing up.

Apparently she didn't do a very good job of hiding the evidence of the nose-dive her mood had taken because, as she took her snack to the table, Lauren studied her face for a long moment before inquiring what was wrong.

"Nothing, and everything all at once," Mac admitted. "Plus, I might have got into a slight fender bender on my way home."

"Mom will kill you," Lauren said not-very-reassuringly.

"Are you alright, Madi?" Lucille gasped and put aside the dough she was still working on.

"I'm fine," she huffed a breath, and then continued, "some bit…" stopping herself just in time to render Lucille's preemptive look of censure unnecessary. "Some bad driver pulled out in front of me, and then tried to act like it was my fault. Dick backed me up to the cops."

Lauren made kissing noises at that last comment. Mac bit her lip to keep back the genuine smile pushing through. She lived for these real-live sisterly bonding moments. It was confusing though, because while mostly she longed for her Mackenzie life back, there was pleasure in the moment, too, those simple times spent with Lauren where it felt like they'd always been sisters, and they always would be. However, to go back to her old life meant giving up Lauren and these little moments.

She forced an older sisterly-stern expression on her face.

"Mom really is going to kill you," Lauren reiterated. "Can I have your room? It's bigger than mine."

Mac wondered how she could know that for sure; it seemed to her that when you were talking rooms the size of the ones populating the Sinclair's _McMansion_ then a difference of like 10 square feet didn't make that much of a difference at all. The degree of big-ness didn't really matter—big, after all, was still big.

She worked her way through the plate of cookies, chatting with Lauren about school, Scooby Doo villains and just the minutiae of junior high life in general. It was eerily similar from the after-school snack sessions she shared with Ryan the first time around, minus the hovering maid frantically preparing a feast for the next day, however. Mac was focused on Lauren's description of her favorite class when her attention was suddenly diverted.

"Madison Grace, what the hell happened to your car?"

Startled, Mac looked up to see Ellen glowering in the doorway, waves of anger all but shimmering off of her.

"Fender bender, mom," Mac said, cringing slightly at the meek tone her voice took on. The headache she'd had since she first rammed into Madison made its presence known once again; it had just started to recede into the background.

"Looks like a fender crusher to me," Ellen corrected. "That's more than a mere tap."

"Cindy pulled out in front of me; there was nothing I could do to avoid her."

"Cindy?" The questioning tone in Ellen's voice was faint, but there. She strode into the room, stopping to grab a cookie from the tray before joining her daughters at the kitchen table. Mac watched her mom take a bite of the crunchy cookie and, yet, somehow, manage not to rain crumbs everywhere.

"Cindy Mackenzie." Just saying her name in regards to someone else was surreal, she felt like she was speaking in second person. Where was Rod Serling when she needed his voice over talents?

Ellen finished chewing and swallowing the cookie before pursing her lip. Mac could see the anger leaving her face. "None of those bloody people can drive evidently." It was just a mutter.

"What does that mean?" Mac tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. She didn't like Ellen's insinuation, labeling the Mackenzie's that way.

"Nothing, dear," Ellen's tone was dismissive, as she popped the rest of the cookie in her mouth.

She wasn't convinced, but before she could question Ellen further, conversation had moved to other more pressing topics like plans for the annual Sinclair feast.

*******/*******/*******/*******/*******

Mac woke up the next day hot and heavy with the knowledge that it was her first holiday as a Sinclair, and Thanksgiving no less. Fortunately her headache from the day before was gone; she didn't have anything slowing down her processors.

Things in the Mackenzie household on Thanksgiving were always chaotic. No matter what her intent was, her day always seemed to begin before 8AM as the kitchen noise rose up to her second floor bedroom. Natalie was not a yeller, but her voice seemed to take on a frantic edge to it that crept higher on the acoustic scale on times of stress like preparing holiday dinners. Her mom didn't buy "extravagances" like _Tofurky_, but she did make a point to make vegan versions of every other classic dish.

Things were still quiet in the Sinclair house; however, the kitchen was so far removed from the bedroom wing that it was possible that there was a marching band practicing in the breakfast nook and Mac wouldn't hear even one note from the French horn section.

Her philosophical dissection of butterflies once again circled around her thoughts as she started to shake the sleep that was still clinging to the recesses of her mind. The powerful effect of what even the most miniscule change to conditions could cause had been demonstrated time and again by various experiments. However, they were mainly laboratory conditions, the field she was talking about was vaster, and, at the risk of being dramatic, it involved her very existence. Even if she could figure out a way to exact changes in this reality, would it actually bleed into her original "future" life? She just needed to mull it over a little while longer.

Reluctantly, Mac got out of her warm nest of blankets, the 1,500 thread count cotton sheets, and the cloud-like mattress that already contoured perfectly to her body. The bed was definitely one luxe that hadn't taken long to get acclimated to in this new lifestyle.

She went into the massive closet, quickly grabbing a pair of jeans and a tee shirt from the acres of clothes bunched in there. After slipping them on, Mac finger combed her hair so she'd be presentable at least.

When she entered the kitchen she'd expected to see chaos; debris from potato peelings, a trail of gravy splatter on the stove, a garbage can overflowing with burnt rolls. Instead Lucille was humming along to the radio, which was tuned to an Oldies station. She was peeling sweet potatoes, but she was doing it in the sink, and everything was neatly piled together.

They exchanged greetings and Lucille interrupted her work flow just long enough to indicate to Mac that her breakfast was waiting for her at the table. A box of her usual vegan cereal was perched beside an empty bowl and a carton of soy milk. Murmuring a thank you, she set to work pouring a cup of coffee, before settling down to eat.

"So, where is everyone?" Mac asked, over a big bite of cereal.

"Lauren is still sleeping, your mom is out getting a few last minute items, and your dad is taking his traditional pre-turkey run."

"Traditional?" Mac asked, and then mentally kicked herself.

"His theory is exercise before you eat primes your metabolism."

"That's ridiculous. It sounds plausible, but there's no science to truly back that up."

"I know, you tell him that every year," Lucille said with an indulgent smile. She didn't appear to think it seemed strange for Mac to not remember all their little Sinclair traditions.

Lucille went back to her task at hand while Mac focused again on eating her breakfast.

The meow coming from the door fractured her attention again. Fritz entered the room, no doubt following his nose. They'd been bonding lately; he even came up to her occasionally for a pat. After doing his due diligence in making sure the floor by the food prep area was completely clean, Fritz made a quick detour over to Mac. She sneaked him a couple of pieces of cereal to make it worth his while, and he purred his appreciation.

After breakfast, Mac offered her assistance and food prep skills in the kitchen only to get, politely, shoo'ed out. Refilling her coffee cup first, Mac went into the adjoining family room and found an episode of _The Family Guy_, a show Dick was always trying to sell her on. She sipped on her coffee carefully, not wanting to spill a drop on the precious couch 'Mom2' was so protective of.

As the morning made its creeping progress towards the afternoon, activities in the kitchen picked up, and Mac turned off the marathon of baby Stewie and his usual brand of sarcastic rejoinders to join in the madness. Sinclair madness wasn't a bleep on the Mackenzie _Richter scale_, however.

The entire family was pitching in. Most of the meal was already either fully finished and just cooling on the counter, or was languishing in the hot oven. Despite the fact that it was less than an hour until all the guests arrived for the biggest meal of the year, Ellen's demeanor was calm. She was not muttering about time getting away, or how they'd have to move because this would be an epic disaster, like Natalie always did. Obviously having live-in help took a lot of stressors off a person.

"I have one more dish to prepare, and then I think everything is set, dears," Lucille finally announced, politely waving them out of her domain. She made the appropriate accompanying hand gestures. "Go relax before the guests arrive. The table has been set since last night, the food is almost finished cooking, and dinner will be on the table twenty minutes after the last guest arrives."

"Thank you, Lucille. As always, I do not know what we'd do without you," Ellen said gratefully.

"Starve," Lauren joked, then laughed as her mom tickled her. She skipped out of the room.

Mac smiled when she turned around briefly on her way out the door and saw the housekeeper taking out a box with a _Tofurky_ roast in it. Her plate had always seemed bare without the traditional representation of a Thanksgiving feast, but, of course she wouldn't nor couldn't violate her moral code on any day—veganism didn't take a holiday. Now, however, she could have a balanced plate, and not violate her dietary lifestyle either. The vegan roast wasn't even a splurge in this family; it wouldn't even put a hairline crack in the Sinclair's food budget.

After getting kicked out of the kitchen, they all settled down in the library. 'Dad2' started a fire, and Fritz proceeded to plop himself in front of it. Ellen opened a bottle of red wine, pouring herself and her husband a generous amount. It made a cozy holiday scene. They talked about the guest list, it was shaping up to be a smaller than the usual grouping, according to Ellen.

"Who is on the guest list this year?" Mac asked, though she knew none of the names would mean a thing to her.

Ellen swallowed the sip of wine she'd just taken then, using her fingers' started listing them. "Aunt Alice and Uncle Bill, Ed, Grandma Cole, and…"

Just then the doorbell rang and Lauren hopped up to get it.

"Well, looks like the party will be beginning a little early," Ellen continued, abandoning her earlier thread of conversation.

"Come in," Mac heard Lauren say from the entry way.

"Thanks, Lauren," was the reply.

Mac knew that voice, _Dick Casablancas_.

"What's he doing here?" She hissed at her mom. "You didn't tell me Dick was coming."

"Keep your tone down, dear. I was about to," Ellen corrected. She got up off the settee and reached out a hand to pull Mac up, too. She walked out the door to greet her guests, always the gracious hostess. Mac followed suit.

"Hope you don't mind that I brought…" Dick was saying.

Mac turned the corner and locked eyes with Cassidy just as Dick finished his sentence. She felt the blood pooling in her face as, once again, thoughts of butterflies flitted through her mind.

**_TBC…_**

**_***Seemed like a good stopping point to me. There will be lots of more of the Sinclair Family Thanksgiving dinner in the next chapter. I decided to split this one in 2 parts, pushing the rest of my plan back a chapter, so that means this story will be at least one chapter longer than I'd originally planned, and I have a LOT more chapters planned! But I want to know what you thought of THIS chapter. Reviews as always are appreciated. Thanks for reading!_**


	10. Chapter 10--Not Yet Lost All Our Graces

**_A/N: Part 2 of Thanksgiving dinner at Casa de Sinclair. This chapter starts in the middle of the action, Mac just dun…dun…dun spotted Cassidy in her hall. Hope you enjoy what is probably one of the most awkward holiday dinners poor Mac has ever experienced. I love hearing from everyone, thank you so much for all the reviews, follows & favorites. Also, a big thank you to my fabulous & patient beta cainc3! Happy reading!_**

**_Obligatory disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Veronica Mars & the VM 'verse, that's all on Rob Thomas and the gang. I like to play with it though. _**

**_Chapter 10—Not Yet Lost All Our Graces_**

"Not at all, sweetie," Ellen was saying to Dick. "I'm glad you brought your brother. I hate the thought of you boys spending this day all alone, eating cold pizza." She then switched her focus to Dick's brother. "I'm Ellen, by the way. I'm happy that you're joining us."

"Actually, cold Chinese was on the menu for today," he corrected. "I'm Cassidy. You have a lovely home, Mrs. Sinclair." He extended out his hand, which Ellen shook, then he handed her the bottle of wine he'd evidently been hiding behind his back.

"Again, call me Ellen, and this is Robert. You both know my daughters, Madison, and Lauren, I believe. Thank you so much for the wine. This is a wonderful varietal."

It was a _Bordeaux_ according to the label Mac took a peek at, obviously taken directly from the Casablancas' family collection. It probably set Big Dick back close to a hundred dollars and she was sure it wouldn't even be missed.

A chill overtook her as her eyes had locked onto Cassidy's. She swore she could see the evil inside him this time around.

Mac had been thinking a lot the past couple of days about the butterfly effect, also known as the chaos theory. It was something her Physics teacher, Mr. Humphrey, had been lecturing about before Thanksgiving break started, and it wouldn't stop circling around her head. The basic tenet was one small ripple of butterfly wings could cause catastrophic changes in weather patterns on the other side of the world. That part seemed a little simplistic really to her mind, but still Mac had wondered how, if at all, it could ripple into her strange predicament. The human embodiment of a big part of what she'd love to change in her own past was now standing in the hall giving her bio-mom a bottle of expensive, stolen wine.

Once the obligatory greetings and salutations were out of the way, Mac regained the powers of speech the shock of seeing Cassidy in her home had stolen from her.

She remembered the conversation she and her mom had had the previous week about Betina Casablancas leaving town yet again, giving zero thought, as always, to her boys.

"Hey," Mac said quietly, finding her manners. "Welcome to my humble home for the traditional Thanksgiving breaking of bread. The _Tofurky_ is in the oven."

"We actually have a real turkey and also a ham for the more carnivorous eaters among us," 'Dad2' assured his guests.

"Gotta eat enough to earn that jog, huh, dad?" Lauren teased.

"_Et tu, Brute_?"

"English, please."

"That's Latin, where English gets its roots," 'Dad2' explained to his younger daughter. "You sound like your sister, giving me crap for my traditional pre-dinner exercise routine."

"She just recognizes truth, that's all," Mac stepped in on Lauren's behalf.

"Studies have actually shown that exercising on an empty stomach before you eat is a good way to prevent those extra pounds," 'Dad2' continued.

"Let's not rehash the traditional Sinclair family _post-_ verses _pre-_ meal exercise debate," Ellen said. "I know our guests don't want to listen to this topic bandied about the entire day."

"Who are we to mess with tradition, Mrs. S…err, Ellen," Dick said, grinning at her.

Mac gritted her teeth at Dick's show of charm towards her mom. She bore in even harder at her mom's return smile, she suspected by the end of the day she wouldn't have any teeth left, they would be ground down to her gums.

Ellen herded them all into the formal living room, down the hall and to the right. There were more seating options for the guests in there. Other than peeking in once or twice in her quest to get acclimated to her new surroundings, this was Mac's first official time in the room as a denizen of the Sinclair abode, rather than just a guest, or _party-crasher_.

She plopped into one of the matching flower-print chairs running perpendicular to the large white sofa and matching loveseat. Dick eased his lanky frame into the other chair. She watched Cassidy settle on the far end of the couch, sitting timidly on the edge, seeming out of place in the whole scheme of things. Then she looked down at her hands folded on her lap. She couldn't really bear to look him in the eye, yet he'd placed himself in her viewing range.

It was ridiculous, she knew it, but it felt like he'd come back from the grave to antagonize her. He seemed to be mocking her for caring about him, for having thought she loved a guy she didn't truly know, a guy capable of raping her best friend and killing countless classmates, a guy who stole her clothes and left her terrified, huddling in a hotel room. Maybe she deserved to be mocked for being so naïve.

Lauren was sitting between Cassidy and her mom.

She heard her parents try to involve Cassidy in conversation about school, and grades, very parental topics of conversation. Dick then took the opportunity to talk to Lauren, mainly teasing her about potential boyfriends. As her little sister blushed and Cassidy causally chatted with 'Mom2', hiding his psychotic tendencies, a skill he had perfected, Mac sat there longing for dinner to be over before it had even began. Fortunately the doorbell rang just then, putting a momentary pause on the pre-meal chatter.

"Madison, will you get the door?" Ellen delegated.

"Sure mom," she agreed, getting up off the chair, glad to get away, even if it was just a temporary reprieve.

As she went down the long entry hall to the front door she mentally called upon acting chops she wasn't sure she actually possessed to _improv _her way through the meet-and-greet of guests she had never actually met before.

Fortunately, the old woman standing on the other side of the door was an easy guess. She let out a whoop of excitement and squeezed Mac in a bone-crushing hug, or rather what would have been bone-crushing had the lady been fifteen years younger, now it was merely bone-bruising.

"Madison Grace, I've missed you darling. Give your grandma a kiss."

Mac extracted herself just enough from the iron-grip hug to give her grandma a kiss on the cheek. She smelled like lavender, and she felt instantly at ease with the woman. It was the same perfume her mom—Nat—wore and that gave her some comfort.

After being granted her freedom from the bruising hug, the grandma pulled back slightly to inspect her. She apparently passed.

"You look beautiful, dear. I hear school is going really well for you and Lauren, I can't wait to hear all about it." She linked arms with Mac as they walked back to the living room.

Ellen met them at the doorway and enthusiastically hugged and kissed her mom before guiding her to the couch, placing her on Cassidy's other side.

'Dad 2' got the next two rounds of arrivals, his second in command at Sinclair Enterprises, who was a big guy named Ed, and Aunt Alice and Uncle Bill. Mac listened in as introductions were made to Dick and Cassidy, mentally taking notes for her own edification. Based on the fact that Lauren jumped up to greet Ed even more enthusiastically than Grandma Cole, Mac assumed that he was an honorary Sinclair.

Just as Mac was mentally preparing what to say to an aunt and uncle she didn't even know, they embraced her and started talking about two girls named Tara and Maggie, who were evidently sisters. She assumed they had to be her cousins. Evidently one had just started a new high powered job in town, but Mac didn't catch any specifics. The other one was in Virginia on a farm or something like that. Mac was just relieved to have something to focus on other than the fact that her dead, murdering, rapist ex was sitting in her living room. Not surprisingly her headache chose to drill in once again.

As everyone reconfigured the seating arrangements to accommodate the growing group, Ellen walked around playing hostess, taking drink orders. Growing up her mom (Nat) was never even seen until every last dish found a home on the dining room table, host duties were taken over by Sam, who loved playing honorary bartender. One year he jokingly passed around a hat for tips, which got him in trouble with the _boss,_ but underscored to Mac what a loveable goof her dad could be. She was fairly certain this dad—though he had a fun side, too—would never think to joke about money. It was a sacrosanct subject in the Sinclair household, not to mention he appeared to have a healthier fear of his _boss _than Sam did of his.

At Ellen's gentle verbal nudging, 'Dad2' got up to get a platter of appetizers to go with the beverages his wife was handing out. When he came back in, he had a large silver platter overflowing with an assortment of meatless Hors d'oeuvres in one hand, and a stack of small china plates in the other. Mac was pleased to see Lucille hadn't lumped the veg head and meat dishes together in one big, indistinguishable mass, doing so only cancelled out the benefit of providing both meat and meatless options.

The second the tray hit the table Dick was out of his chair, grabbing two plates and filling them to capacity. He handed one to Mac with a flourish, then sat back down to tuck into his own food.

"Thanks," she replied.

"You are welcome, enjoy the wheatgrass and sprouts. Bunny's would be jealous."

"Well, good thing there aren't any rabbits here," Mac said, "though I might have to share with Fritz."

Right on cue, the cat ambled in to further investigate the situation, letting out a meow. Ellen started to get up though and he quickly made his exit. Evidently he knew his presence wasn't allowed in this room, either.

"I had a pet rabbit once," Dick began. Then he briefly looked up at Cass sitting across the way.

Mac looked up and saw the cold way Cassidy appraised his brother, eyes narrowed, and something akin to fear fluttered across Dick's face. Or maybe it was repulsion. Before she could properly examine and label it though he'd shut down operations and stuffed a mushroom popper in his mouth.

"They fuck like bunnies," he said through a mouthful of food. At least, the word sounded like fuck, though it was hard to tell for certain as he chewed his mushroom.

Ellen interrupted her family gossip session with her mom, sister and brother-in-law to look over at Dick.

He had the wherewithal to look sheepish.

_Uh oh, caught out by the manner police_, Mac thought snarkily. Though she wasn't sure if it was more that he talked with his mouth full of food, or the casual way he dropped the f-bomb, it was probably a mish-mash of both factors.

She was just weighing topics of conversation to somewhat diffuse the tension that had started simmering between the brothers, when she looked up and saw Cassidy engaging Lauren in a debate on white versus dark turkey meat. She had to take a deep breath; it wasn't cleansing enough to wash away the desire to launch herself between them screaming 'no, stay away from that murdering psycho.' She put a hand to her temple.

"Headache back again, Mad?" Dick leaned over and whispered in her ear. It tickled a little.

"Sort of," she admitted.

"Sort of? You either have one, or you don't, no need to half…butt it, no need to half-butt it," he caught himself, obviously not wanting to offend his hostess again.

"I do have a headache," she said more firmly this time. She just needed this dinner to be over, and it hadn't yet begun. "It's a full-on headache, no half-butt about it."

Finally, Lucille stuck her head into the living room announcing everything was ready and waiting for them in the dining room.

Saved by the dinner bell.

Mac's relief died a quick death though when she saw the fancy little placeholders arranged artfully on top of each plate. The name was written in calligraphy. There was one setting though that noticeably lacked a tag, and the fact that it had been squeezed in between a more narrow spacing gave tell to the fact it was an 'after the fact addition'. Obviously that was meant to be Cassidy's seat. Her heart sank when she realized he'd been squeezed in between her and Lauren. Dick was on Mac's other side.

"Would you two rather sit together?" she asked Dick, trying and failing to keep the hopeful tone out of her voice.

Ellen stopped her hostess duty of guiding the guests towards their seat to raise her eyebrow at Mac.

"No, it's okay, your mom obviously has a plan," Dick said. He must have been back to this campaign to charm Ellen into favor once again.

"Brown eyes aren't a good look on you," Mac whispered in his ear. "Suck up!"

"You know I have blue eyes, like the Neptune sky, isn't that what you always say?"

"Yes, for now, but you're so full of sh-"

"Poop," Dick interjected before she could finish the sentence. "Cuss words are illegal in '09'er dining rooms, it's against the Neptune charter."

"So are clichés," Mac added. "But my point still stands about you being a butt-kisser," she smirked at him.

As soon as everyone sat down at the table Lucille started the parade of food. She watched as the big platter of _Tofurky_ was set in front of her. Unfortunately the Turkey was placed next to the vegan roast, which meant the scents of both intermingled, merging with her headache and the Cassidy-induced nausea that hadn't yet fully abated. Mac didn't want to seem ungrateful for the special effort Lucille went through for her—though it was probably a scenario repeated every year in this realm—but she really didn't know how she'd be able to choke down much food right now.

As each non-meat containing dish was passed her way Mac took a kid-sized scoop, arranging her plate so it looked like she was taking more than she really was. She did end up spearing a bigger portion of the _Tofurky_ though, out of obligation. She did notice though that Cassidy took a piece, too, but he rested it on top of the strips of ham taking up most of his plate's real estate, cancelling it all out.

Once everyone had filled their plates, a quick prayer was said. She assumed it was some traditional Episcopal prayer, one she wasn't familiar with, but she muttered along quietly banking on the fact no one was listening to her verbal stumbling. She'd been in a church maybe seven times in the past ten years, and a third of those times were for weddings or funerals. Her mom (Nat) went occasionally, but she'd been successfully bailing on her since she was eleven.

She tracked her gaze to Cassidy as she was muttering along with the prayer. She was surprised his eyes weren't glowing red and his head wasn't spinning.

The serious business of eating began as soon as '_Amen_' was said.

Though her stomach was now this hardened rock of a place, Mac managed to pick her way through her meal, eating just enough to satisfy the watchful eyes' of Ellen, who was sitting across from her at the massive so-called Farm Table. There was nothing about the spread that said rustic or _down_ _on the old homestead_ to Mac, though. Conversation was filtering around her, but it was happening mainly in fits and starts, no one saying anything beyond remarking how delicious everything was, or proper stuffing technique.

The longer conversation stayed at bay, the longer Mac figured she could avoid talking to her neighbors, and when that was no longer effective and the social portion of the holiday dinner picked up she would try stuffing her mouth full of food, getting as much down into that gravel pit of a stomach as she could.

There, she had a plan, and even a **_plan B_**, she could do this—she could get through the Thanksgiving dinner from hell in this dimension, and honestly, probably every other dimension in time, too. She wasn't entirely sure she 100% believed her own _pep talk,_ but it made her feel marginally better.

Mac was _thankful_ when Lauren suggested that everyone go around the room round-robin style and say one or two things they were thankful for.

Lauren kicked things off. "I'm thankful for sisters with hard heads and a big collection of books."

Mac couldn't help the grin that broke through at that comment, and she gave Lauren a big thumbs up sign, too.

The parade of thankfulness moved counter clockwise around the table, so Mac was near the end. It gave her time to think of a reply. A list of things she was not thankful for was easier to dictate at this point—sitting next to her murderous, rapist ex, and worse, knowing he was in touching distance of her sister. The _Tofurky_ sat there like a boulder in her stomach.

She half-listened as her grandma, aunt and uncle listed even more people she'd never heard of. When it was her mom's turn, she said the typical motherly-type thing about being blessed to have her family and friends and how thankful she was for their health. Mac noticed the lingering gaze 'Mom2' gave her at that last part. She appeared to zero in on the still-healing cut on her head.

'Dad2' echoed basically the same thing, but added a _family business that was growing and fiscally healthy_ to his list. It seemed like a typical '09'er thought. Mac saw Lauren stick her tongue out at Ed when he said 'bosses who made delicious Thanksgiving dinners.'

"See, I'm not the only suck up here," Dick leaned over to whisper in her ear. He was well on his way to being a member of the clean plate club. The only real challenge to his earning membership was the pile of soggy broccoli that didn't seem to have lost any of its bulk. "That's a smart man, staying on the good side of the boss."

"Are you taking notes? Cause it looked like you could use some lessons on staying on the boss' good side."

He tapped his head, "it's all on file up here. I have a brain like a computer."

Mac was startled when Cassidy leaned over and added "it's more like an _abacas_." She hadn't realized he'd been listening in. She gave a weak grin, trying not to remember a time, not that terribly long ago, when she would have laughed deeply, amused by his quick wit. Things now were tainted by a sepia tinge.

Lauren leaned over and pointed to Dick.

When he saw Lauren's signal that it was his turn he cleared his throat and said "Cute girlfriends with maids who cooked really good dinners." He punctuated that statement by rubbing his belly.

Ellen mock-glared at him and everyone laughed.

Next up was Mac.

"I'm thankful for little sisters who have great taste in cartoons and know their Vulcan signs," Mac said. She clapped when Lauren did a perfect hand gesture, keeping the requisite space between her middle and ring fingers. She had obviously been practicing since that first night Mac landed in the Sinclair house.

"Sinclairs' are so weird," Dick teased, again leaning over to whisper in her ear presumably so he wouldn't offend any other member of the Sinclair clan.

"As opposed to the Casablancas' who are studies in normalcy?!" Mac almost choked on her words. That was obviously not true.

"Yup, at least according to our family crest." Dick said, with mock pride.

Lauren cleared her throat and pointed to Cassidy. "We'll end with you."

"I'm thankful for fake meat and pirates."

Mac was certain she went pale at that comment. At the surface, it seemed innocent enough to everyone else, but not her, not when she added in the layers from Mac-life. The rocks in her stomach churned, swirling around mixing with the little amount of food she'd managed to get down. It was surprising that everything was staying down. That could change at any time, she remembered the first time she saw him in this realm, how utterly unprepared she was to face him again.

Conversation drifted around to politics which, judging by the loud groan and exaggerated hands-over-the-ears gesture Lauren made, was yet another Sinclair tradition. Not surprisingly Mac discovered that they were quite conservative on most economical and social issues. Cassidy took the verbal reigns in matters of local fiscal responsibility of Balboa County.

Mac tried to stifle her yawn of boredom. It was not just that she didn't agree with the political agenda of the other people at the table, but she also thought it wasn't an appropriate holiday dinner talk to her way of thinking. Of course the Mackenzie's turkey day chat rating the best NASCAR race tracks—Bristol, according to her dad, where ever the hell that was—wasn't any more stimulating than the pro-incorporation debate currently going on around her.

About an hour after they'd all sat down to eat, though it felt roughly twice that long, Lucille came back to start clearing away the remains of the gourmet meal. It was impressive to Mac how much everyone had managed to eat, with the exception of herself. She was pleased with her skills in meal time subterfuge though, everything had been arranged on her plate so artfully it looked as though much more of it was gone than actually was. Or so she thought.

Dick took his fork and started helping himself to her leftovers. She noticed he studiously avoided the Tofurkey. He grinned at her_ what the hell_ look.

"You're not eating it," Dick defended himself. "There are starving children and shit." The cuss word was said softly. Mac grinned as she saw him giving 'Mom2' a side glance, making sure she wasn't listening to curse word rebellion.

"Not very hungry," Mac said. "So have at it. I don't really see how eating my dinner is an altruistic gesture though."

"It's symbolic, really, waste is wrong," he said triumphantly.

"Symbolic?" Mac raised her eyebrow.

"What? I listen to Mrs. Murphy."

"I guess it's hard to avoid since you sit in the front ass-kiss row."

"Can I help that she has a crush on me?" Dick asked with a leer.

"Are you trying to make me jealous?"

"Is it working?"

"Nope!" she exclaimed with a smirk, popping the _p_.

He snapped his fingers in an 'oh darn' gesture.

Lucille came into the room with a big plate of the vegan cinnamon melts she'd made the previous day. The smell of the cookies made Mac's stomach growl, thus contradicting her earlier cover story about not being hungry. It was a selective hunger—there was always room for cookies.

The maid placed the platter in between Mac and Dick.

"Thanks, Lucille."

"You're welcome, doll," she said, smiling warmly.

"Did you eat yet?"

"I had a little plate in the kitchen while you were eating out here," Lucille assured her.

"At least join us for dessert," Mac insisted. She didn't think the banishment was fair when it was Lucille who did all the work.

Ellen looked over at her daughter just then, a look of surprise on her face, and maybe censure, though Mac couldn't entirely identify it. She didn't rescind the invitation her daughter just extended though, that would have been a breach of manners she'd never commit.

"Oh, I couldn't," Lucille started to protest.

At Mac's pleading look, Lauren got in on the begging, too.

"Double teamed, loves? I can't argue with both you girls," Lucille said, then sighed as though in defeat. She held up both hands in mock-surrender. "Let me finish bringing in the desserts, and get some coffee brewing and then I'll sit with you."

Mac caught the look her mom and aunt exchanged. She wondered briefly what they had been chatting about. Except for the round robin about thankfulness that Lauren had instigated, it seemed like this family was more segregated than the Mackenzies were in group settings. There wasn't any shouting from one end of the table to the other, and no one interrupted or talked over each other.

Her gaze traveled around the table, landing on Cassidy, who was learning over to continue to whisper in Lauren's ear. She felt her eyes' narrowing into slits, and her nails bit into her palms. Though it was not 'Mom2's' fault she mentally cursed her for inviting Dick in the first place. It wasn't fair really because she was glad Dick was there, but why the hell didn't he bring a green bean casserole along instead of his murdering little brother? After dessert was finished she'd have to think of a way to separate her sister from Cass. Dick would just have to deal with a chaperone; she could chalk it down to a 1950s throwback.

Her plotting was interrupted by Lucille returning, laden down with a tray full of pumpkin, apple and cherry pies. She saw Dick's gaze follow the pumpkin pie. She grabbed another cookie and watched the pie feeding frenzy ensue. Lauren took a sliver of each kind and still grabbed a few cookies for herself. 'Dad2' brought one of the spare chairs up to the table for Lucille to sit on; he squeezed it between himself and Ed.

It didn't take long before the only trace of the pies that remained was bits of crust that had crumbled off. The vegan cookies didn't have the devoted followers that the pies did, but Mac did her part in thinning that herd. Dick evidently didn't find two pieces of pie filling enough so he grabbed a few cookies, too. On his fifth cookie grab though, Mac slapped his hand away. He reached down and launched his own counter attack for that move, tickling her under the arm closest to him.

She giggled and scooted away. A little voice tucked away wondered when she'd become a giggly teen girl. _Again._ Though she was pretty confident she had never been the giggly type, she was generous with her hearty guffaws but not giggles.

Ellen looked over and tried to look stern, but it soon morphed into a soft smile. She gave them all permission to leave the table at that point.

Mac recognized the look in Dick's eye as the four of them entered the family room; he was going to pair Cass and Lauren up and get rid of them all in the name of getting some privacy with his girlfriend.. She quickly jumped in with the idea of a sibling versus sibling _Halo_ smack down to get him off track. She really sold it by proposing a side bet. Dick happily agreed.

The Sinclairs' and Casablancas' were pretty evenly matched for most of the first round. By the second, though, the Sinclairs' started pulling slightly ahead. Mac was beginning to think they'd win and then Dick decided to be more proactive.

Mac had the controller in hand and was hunched forward, her gaze firmly on the intended onscreen target, she was about to engage a missile when a pillow was thrown at her. It hit her on the arm—her firing arm, dislodging the aim just enough that she missed.

"Son of a bitch, you asshole," slipped from her mouth as she saw her avatar get taken down.

"Oops, sorry," Dick said in a tone that was anything but apologetic. "What does this mean, Beav?"

Even in her annoyance, Mac couldn't help but notice the anger that flashed in Cassidy's hazel eyes. Dick, however, seemed oblivious to the fact his baby brother hated that nickname.

Through gritted teeth, Cass said that the Casablancas brothers had won fair and square. Mac and Lauren both protested that "fact."

Dick and Cassidy didn't stay long after the game they'd won, with less than honest means, was over. Cassidy went back into the dining room to thank his hostess, while Mac walked Dick to the front door. Lauren stayed in the family room to turn the game off and take the opportunity to hijack the remote to watch a rerun of _The Simple Life_.

He maneuvered their positions so her back was pressed against the door in a pose reminiscent of the kiss from the previous week and was leaning forward about to brush her lips with his when Cassidy came back into the room. One of them pulled away, Mac thought it was probably her.

He spoke quietly, Mac watched his lips moving and tried not to imagine them back on her lips. It wasn't an easy task. "I expect you to pay up on your bet," Dick was saying. She tracked his tongue as he licked his lips.

"Don't let me interrupt," Cassidy said loudly as though he thought they might not have noticed his presence.

"No worries there," Dick said dismissively to his brother. "How about you pay up next Friday, say 8 O'clock?"

"I'm busy," Mac said snapping her fingers.

"Good, it's settled. 8 O'clock. I'd say tomorrow but Betina is sending a plane to pick us up for a weekend trip in Aspen, or Vail, or _where-the-hell_ ever."

"Mom," Cassidy corrected.

"Betina." Dick asserted.

So that was where that had started. Mac had noticed in her Mac-life that Dick never called his mom 'mom,' she was always Betina.

"Skiing, that sounds like a hardship." Mac intoned.

"But someone's gotta do it," Dick said grinning. "I'll see you Monday in homeroom. Then, next Friday night I own you, per terms of our agreement. No weaseling out, a bet is a bet."

"Except, you know, when the bettor cheats, then the _bet_ is null and void."

"Cheat is such an ugly word. I might have taken the edge I was given."

"Given?" Mac's voice screeched. "Try taken."

"Eh, given, taken, whatever. It's all semantics."

"That means connotation," Cassidy told Dick, apparently thinking his brother didn't know the meaning of the word he'd just used.

"Thanks, dipshit; it was last Tuesday's word of the day." Dick didn't seem appreciative of the vocab lesson and his accompanying finger gesture further sold his displeasure.

"Mrs. Murphy would give you a gold star," Mac defended. "It was in context and everything." She was annoyed, and it was undoubtedly broadcast on her face. She was not blessed in the poker face department, which was okay, overall, except in the rare occasions she wanted to play _poker_.

Dick signaled Cassidy, and then after nudging Mac gently away from the door they called out one last round of _good-byes_ and _thank yous_ and left.

As soon as the door was shut, separating her from the Casablancas brothers, Mac gave into the swirl of emotions she'd been fighting on and off the whole day. She didn't try to stop the tears that ran down her cheeks, but she did bite her to keep the sob down. She put her elbow on the door and leaned forward, forming a shield of sorts so she could gather herself before anyone from the next room caught her crying jag. She took three deep breaths in a row and then dragged a hand over her eyes, wiping the tears away.

Hoping she was composed enough for the job, Mac stuck her head into the dining room to say goodnight to the guests who were still too full to move. She plead headache and no one protested. She kissed her parents and the grandmother, she didn't really know, goodnight then headed to her room.

Once back in that sanctuary, Mac again allowed herself the luxury of crying, soaking the Egyptian cotton pillowcase in the process.

Sleep slowly enfolded over her, crowding out thoughts of Thanksgiving dinners in other dimensions with murderous exes. It was a welcome escape.

**_TBC…_**

**_***Like it? Hate it? M'eh? I'd love to hear your thoughts. Reviews are always appreciated! Thank you for reading! Next up is another Dick chapter!  
_**


	11. Chapter 11--Comatose Don't Dance & Tell

**_A/N: Here you go, an overdue update! Thank you so much for all the reviews-I read them all (several times!), and thank you so much for taking your time to do so. Also, thank you for all the favorites & follows, and for reading it, of course! So glad the consensus is overwhelming positive, it motivates me, in a good way. (As does all the reviewage!) Thank you so much to my wonderful, ever patient beta-cainc3! This title is from another Lord song, "Team."_**

**_Obligatory disclaimer: Guess what? That's right, I still don't own anything in the VM 'verse, but I love playing in it. I don't own the other pop-culturey stuff mentioned in here, either. Bummer! Enjoy..._**

**_Chapter 11—The Comatose Don't Dance & Tell_**

**_Dick's POV_**

**_June 7_****_th_****_, 2009_**

Dick found a new hobby on day two of his waiting room camp out—watching the Logan/Veronica dance begin again. It was like watching a tennis game, or maybe hockey. The back and forth action—in verbal form of barbs and jabs—went back and forth, punctuated by stilted small talk and more about the fucking weather pattern of Palo Alto.

The Technicolor sharpness of Logan and Veronica's snipes had dulled a bit though in the two years since she'd left Neptune and the sadness that had incited their reunion further grayed the edges. Still, he gave them points for giving it the old _college_ try anyway.

A crick was forming in his neck, though the fact he was still sitting in those hard-assed blue chairs in the ICU waiting room wasn't helping the cause.

The only thing missing was a wooden post to etch the two "I's" in Roman Numerals to truly capture day two of his sentence. True, he was prisoner of choice; he wasn't going _any-fucking-where_ until Mac was awake and telling him where he could go. _Hell_ was her preferred destination where he was concerned; however, the twinkle in her blue eyes and the adorable dimple that showed when she gifted him with her signature half-smile took the sting out of her words.

_Star date Captain's Log_ that would be a fitting marker for the passage of time, one that Mac would, no doubt, appreciate. Cassidy would've been able to tutor him on the finer points of nerdism and Star Date tracking, however, if Cassidy had been around to provide those services things in this reality would be very different. There wouldn't be room in her life for two Casablancas brothers, he was certain of that. Fuck! Dick shut down that thought train really quick, shoving it into the station and throwing the key away.

Dick reached into the bag of donuts on the side table next to him. He'd stationed himself strategically. Nat, he'd noticed, was still nibbling on her first, a lot more lady-like than her daughter. Though he imagined the lack of appetite was more stress induced than concern for her waistline.

He took a big bite of donut, letting the sugary goodness rain down on the floor below.

"Are you planning on saving any for the rest of us?"

Ronnie's voice cut into his ruminations. He finished chewing before explaining "It's a free country, the bag is right there; I'm not the donut guard. No one else is eating them. As Mac says waste is wrong." Dick rejoined. Then, to prove his point, he stuffed the rest of it in his mouth.

The smirk Veronica was wearing went soft at the mention of her friend. "She did say that," she affirmed, her voice low and husky. Her eyes got wide as she mentally rewound the tape on what she just said. "Does," she amended, looking around as though she were afraid that Mrs. Mac might hear her show of pessimism. "She _does_ say that a lot."

Dick watched Logan reach over and pat Veronica on her back reassuringly. He also noticed her barely visible flinch and didn't try to hold back his sigh.

"Where's a remote control for life when you need it?" Dick bit out. "I've watched reruns of this show and I'd like to see some original programming." The only one who seemed to be paying attention though was Wallace who didn't try to hide his annoyance. "Oh come on, you can't tell me you aren't thinking the exact same thing."

Wallace scowled and rolled his eyes, but, to Dick's way of thinking, it wasn't denial, per se. Veronica, evidently, heard him after all because she let her middle finger do the speaking for her.

Dick drained the rest of his coffee and set the empty cup next to the bag of donuts on the table. He looked over to see if Ronnie was still guard-dogging the bag. Her focus was back on Logan. Wallace was now engaged in conversation with Mrs. Mac. No one was paying any attention to him.

Not enthralled with his front row seat to Logan and Veronica's flirting and feeling the need to just get up and move, Dick decided to pay a visit to the lobby coffee kiosk. He took everyone's drink orders and then mentally filed them away.

Downstairs, after ordering and paying for the large order, Dick was standing there just waiting for the barista to make the drinks. A couple minutes later he thought he heard his name and turned around to see Sam and Ryan heading towards him. He waved in acknowledgment.

Sam whispered something in his son's ear then headed to the lobby gift shop while Ryan joined him at the cart.

"Hi," Dick greeted him briefly. "Did you or Mr. Mac want anything?"

Ryan muttered something about black coffee and hot chocolate, and then repeated the order louder to the male barista with a punk '80's hairstyle. Dick dug into his wallet for a few bucks to pay for those beverages, too.

As they stood there waiting together in companionable silence, Dick found himself studying Ryan, he was a skinny boy version of his mom really, with no trace of Mac except the twin smirks they both tended to wear. Upon closer inspection though, he noticed bruising around the kid's eye. Dick did a double take. "Geez, what the hell is with that shiner, Mike Tyson?"

"I went to talk to the guy that hit the ball into the stands."

"_Talk_?" Dick asked incredulously. "So, how did that conversation go for you?"

"I think the answer to that one is pretty obvious."

"No shit! I think you just wanted to steal your sister's nickname."

"What?"

"Scrappy Doo," Dick grinned. "I always liked that little dog-dude almost as much as his Uncle Scooby."

"What about Daphne?" Ryan asked.

"She's hot, honestly though, Velma is starting to grow on me even more," Dick confessed.

Ryan just snickered, like Dick was revealing some deep dark secret, instead of just talking about which members of the Scooby gang were hot.

Mac would be making fun of them, for sure, for comparing the sexy factor of cartoon characters. Some people had no imagination.

"So, was your dad mad?" Dick asked, a couple minutes later.

"Not really. He gave me a mini-lecture, but it was half-assed, at best."

"What about your mom?"

"She won't notice," Ryan said it softly, it sounded kind of sad. "Mom is a bit distracted now."

"Bullshit. Mrs. Mac will notice right away. I bet you."

"Yeah?" That had his attention.

"Yeah, name your terms."

"$500."

"You have $500 sitting around in your piggy bank?" Dick knew he'd be in deep trouble with Mackie if she ever found out he'd extorted that much money from her brother. He was certain extortion would be the right term, too.

"No, but you do," Ryan said.

"What if you lose? The first rule of gambling is to never, ever wager more than you can afford to lose."

"Okay, well if we're talking rules, the number one rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club. So the fuck what?"

The kid had a mouth on him, yet another reason he liked him, but he corrected him anyway, that whole do as I say shit. "Frak."

Ryan just smirked at him, but didn't backtrack. "If I lose, then I'll give you my _X-Men #1_."

"Where the hell did you get that?"

"I have my sources." It was said smugly.

"Mac," Dick said. It wasn't a question. The interesting part of that story would be how she got the money to pay for it. Something creative and borderline illegal, Dick was sure. He'd not forgotten Logan's revelation, at the dinner the previous night, that she'd been the one who sold the purity test online. Fuck, it was only last night! It felt eons longer than that. He figured that was how time ran in purgatory.

"It's old, kind of beat up. Cindy keeps it in her room. I'm sure it's worth about $500," Ryan explained, in the spirit of self-disclosure. "Maybe even a little bit more than that."

Terms of the wager were interrupted, however, by the Adam Ant look-a-like barista unceremoniously announcing their order and not being very congenial as he placed the carry-all containers filled with take-away cups of hot coffee and Ryan's cocoa on the counter. Dick grabbed one of the carriers, while Ryan took the other one. They headed toward the bank of elevators.

Mr. Mac came out of the gift shop, empty-handed except for a small plastic bag. For a big man, he proved he could move fast. It didn't take him long to catch up to them.

"A gift for the Mrs.," Mr. Mac explained, showing them a blinged-out black satin sleep mask, with fake-ass red and green "jewels" all over. Dick couldn't look directly at the thing, it was blinding.

"I don't know how she's getting any sleep in that…" Mr. Mac paused, and took a deep breath before continuing, "depressing hospital room. I'm going to get her to go home for a couple hours this afternoon."

"I wouldn't if I were you, dad," Ryan said. "It's not going to end well for you. She'll go all mama bear on you."

Dick reached over and punched the button for the 3rd floor. With a ding, the doors opened right away.

Back in the waiting room, Dick set down the carrier he was holding, removing his own cup of strong black coffee. He let Ryan earn his keep passing out everyone else's drinks. Scanning the room, he noticed the pixy spy was noticeably absent. Dick took a seat in the same chair he'd staked out since Mac had become a resident of the ICU. He felt like he owned it now, squatters rights and all that shit.

"Ronnie defect again?"

From his vantage point across the aisle, Dick watched Wallace sit up straight and glare at him. He bit back a grin, obviously he'd hit a nerve. Good thing her bodyguard wasn't packing heat, at this rate he'd be occupying a bed next to Mackie within the day. Wallace's lack of the warm and fuzzies for him was mostly due to his known Logan association more than anything else. Personally, he and Ronnie's shadow didn't have any issues, of their own at least.

"Visiting hours just started, so Nat brought her back to see Mac," Wallace explained. _Jackass_ was said under his breath, but Dick heard it perfectly.

This time he didn't bite back the grin."I'm pretty sure that will be inscribed on my tombstone."

"I'll pay for it myself," Logan said, joining the conversation. His pinched expression broadcasting that he wasn't a fan of Dick's question either.

"What? It's a legit concern. She's got a history of leaving town in the middle of the night."

Ryan staked out the same chair he'd poached the day before, grabbed yet another issue of _Wired_ and sipped on his hot chocolate, seeming to tune out his sister's friends. Dick watched as Mr. Mac left the waiting room, taking his coffee and one for Mrs. Mac, too.

Logan just sat there tapping that SOS again on his coffee cup, with a lost, beaten puppy expression on his face, not even fighting against the current as he fell deeper and deeper down the Veronica shaped rabbit hole. There was no saving him now; the dude was a goner, had been since he and Ronnie locked eyes in the elevator that morning.

The sudden longing for Mac's company caught him by surprise. He just wanted to be around someone else who was intimately acquainted with the mutual combustion that was left smoldering when those two inevitably got back together. They could cuddle together in a foxhole as the shrapnel rained down.

Dick swore he could tell the exact second Veronica walked back into the room by the 10 degree temperature drop. It wasn't in an ice queen type of way, but more in the way that she vampired energy out of a room, leaving only shell behind. She seemed to have aged in the fifteen minutes or so since he'd left for the coffee run. She had circles under her eyes, mascara tracks down her cheeks; her posture drooped, like a slow leak.

Logan looked up, took in her expression, and wordlessly handed his coffee cup over to Dick to put on the side table. He stood up, and made his way around the rows of chairs to get to Veronica. She had stopped mid-trek and was wiping a tear that had leaked out of the side of her eye. Dick didn't avert his eyes or anything as Logan wrapped his arms around her, and she flooded his shirt from her crying. He could hear the rise and fall of Logan's voice as he talked into her hair, but he didn't know what was said. He could imagine it though.

It wasn't a romantic hug, but that's what made it that way, that intimacy of comforting.

It didn't take long to see the inevitable shift come over Veronica, it came in stages. First she held herself a little higher, less hunched inward. Then she sniffed and removed one arm from around Logan so she could wipe an eye. Finally, she pulled away. It looked like Logan deflated at that point, it was contagious.

Veronica noticed Dick watching as she walked back to the bank of chairs their group had taken over. "What?" She inquired, her tone sharp. She sat down two seats away from Dick, Logan sat between them.

_There's a wide assortment of supply closets to choose from_ was on the tip of Dick's tongue. It begged for release, that snarky banter that defined them. He didn't say it. Instead, he asked "How's she holding up?" It was soft, timid, not a natural state for him.

"Not good," Veronica said. She took a deep breath, perhaps to plan out what to say next. "I'm not used to seeing her still and with tubes sticking out everywhere, she looks like…like…Hell, I don't know what."

"My first thought when I saw her was that she looked E.T." Dick confessed, surprised he was telling her that. "All those wires in weird places, it was scary."

She looked over at him, not exactly agreeing but not arguing either. Then she just shrugged one shoulder. Anytime she didn't get her taser out he considered that a win.

Wallace had his phone out and was playing on it-probably _Words with Friends _or some time-suck like that. He stared intently at the screen, and then started typing really fast.

"Hey, Vee," Wallace asked a few minutes later. He looked up as he said it. "Did anyone call Parker?"

"Parker?" Veronica asked in a confused tone as though she didn't recognize the name.

"Parker? I hardly know her," came out of his mouth before he could stop it, not that he really wanted to though. Habit.

Ignoring Dick, Veronica admitted that as far as she knew no one had called Parker yet.

"I just got a text from Piz; it was an invite to Portland. He and Parker are renting a place together for the summer while they both have internships."

"So he wrangled up some of that Oregon Mountain man charm of his and got her back to Brigadoon," Veronica quipped. "Do you want me to call Parker and tell her what's going on?" It was obvious by her facial expression that this chore may be ranked above dental surgery, but well below being strapped to an ant hill naked.

Dick could tell by the relieved expression on Wallace's face that he was only too happy to give her that job. "That would be great, Superfly. Thanks. I'll get her cell number from Piz."

As Wallace wrote Piz back, Dick listened to Logan filling Veronica in on the gaps of the whole Piz/Parker relationship thing. She was evidently less in the loop than he'd thought, but then again Mackie was not exactly a hard-core gossip chick. She was more the _fly under the radar_ type.

Evidently, from what Logan was explaining, Piz and Parker had formed a Ronnie-survivors group, of the informal sort, sophomore year, after she'd left Hearst, Neptune and them in the rear view mirror. Their sponsor/ pseudo-friendship morphed, like they had a tendency to do, and they started making out and shit. Then the _sponsor with benefits_ thing grew into love and now some summertime shacking up. Dick was certain the end result would be Piz in the baby carriage.

When Wallace had secured the digits, he passed it along to Veronica. She took a deep breath and then started dialing the phone. Her fingers were crossed, probably hoping to get Parker's voicemail. That wish didn't come true.

"Hi Parker, it's Veronica," she said, her nose wrinkling. She tapped the fingers of the hand not holding her cell against the arm of the chair. "It has been awhile," she agreed to whatever Parker had said. "Right." She continued to tap the fingers. "Well, actually Mac is the reason for my call."

Veronica squinched her eyes shut, presumably in preparation of the news she was about to share. Logan grabbed her hand and squeezed.

"We're at Neptune Memorial right now; she's in a coma after a baseball hit her yesterday morning." It was said in one big mass of a run-on sentence. Dick wasn't certain she took any breaths between words.

Parker's shriek and crying transmitted the miles clearly.

With one more person added to the ever-growing list of long distance well-wishers, Veronica quickly ended the call.

"Well, another day ruined," Veronica muttered when she had enough reign on her own emotions.

"You do know how to spread the sunshine, Mars." Dick agreed.

"I don't see you joining the phone tree, Casablancas," she retorted.

"Everybody I know who would actually, you know, give a shit, is already here showing they give a shit," Dick explained slowly, like talking to a child, despite the liberal use of less than child-appropriate language.

Veronica just harrumphed, but her already grief- softened look got even softer, so it was just a little firmer than a melty puddle of goo. He saw the exact second Veronica put two and two together and came up with the anniversary of Cassidy's death.

Being besties with Mac, and with her own part in the tragic affair of course, she had to have some awareness of the calendar, but the accident crowded things out for everyone so there was precious, little real estate for those older events that still curdled around the edges but were still raw in the center.

Logan was gently prodding Veronica for more details when the older Macs came back into the room. There was a foreign look to Mrs. Mac; it seemed to hold a little hope. Before Dick could think positive though—a concept he himself wasn't acquainted with these days—she started speaking.

"They're running some tests now; it has been exactly 24 hours since the accident. She's had three courses of the drugs so far, the hope is that the swelling has gone down, at least a little bit since the baseline test in the ER. She's nowhere near ready to be awakened, but…"

"It's a good," Sam started to take over the status update, but he choked up.

"It's a good test to see if it will be the miracle my baby," Nat continued. She looked over at her husband when she said baby. He grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Our baby," she corrected, "needs to come back to all of us."

The older Macs flopped down in two empty chairs by Wallace, across the narrow aisle from where everyone else was sitting.

Dick had all but forgotten his bet with Ryan when Mrs. Mac loudly exclaimed, "Ryan, what the hell is that around your eye?"

"Um, a bruise?" It was said like a question.

"How did it get there?"

"By a fist," Ryan replied, impressively matter-of-fact.

"Who did the fist belong to?"

"Roger."

"Why did Roger's fist connect with your eye?"

Mr. Mac was no help in the interrogation, though Dick was certain he was privy to more details than Mrs. Mac was getting. She was sounding more and more pissed with each question she asked.

"My fist connected with Roger's nose."

"First?"

"Yes."

"Ryan Samuel Mackenzie, we raised you better than that."

"No, you raised me to fight for the ones I love, and also for those that don't have a voice. Cindy fits both of those categories now." Ryan gripped the arm rests tightly, white knuckled.

Mrs. Mac "got it" just then. Dick watched her jaw drop; he'd have thought it was hinged on there. "So, Roger was the guy who…?" She finally asked, letting her voice trail off at the end.

"Yup," Ryan confirmed.

She just sagged, all anger blown out along with her deep sigh.

"So, little dude," Dick asked since the Macs had resolved that bit of conflict, and he was the obvious victor, "is this a bad time to remind you of our little bet?"

"Tomorrow," Ryan said, making a slicing motion against his throat.

Dick read his signal clearly and nodded.

Quietness spread out through the group for a couple minutes. Ryan went back to his _Wired _magazine binge, Dick figured, at this point, the little dude could probably start his own tech company by now, especially if Mackie's dominant hacker gene was recessive in him. Or something like that, how the hell was he supposed to retain all that science shit. The kid was flipping pages so fast; Dick was surprised they didn't rip. Logan had picked up his cup of now-cold coffee and was in the process of shredding the paper sleeve that was supposed to protect the drinker from finger burns. Veronica was fiddling with her phone, it was dizzying watching her flip it every-which-fucking-way. He wanted to grab it out of her hands, but he valued his own limbs too much to attempt that.

Suddenly he heard a low grumbly noise, and he wasn't the only one. It broke the frakking sound barrier.

"What the hell was that? Are you giving birth to an alien baby? Sounds like something is about rip through your stomach," Logan teased.

"I'm a little hungry," Veronica admitted.

"Your stomach is still a black hole, I see," Dick teased. "Some things never change."

It was coming up on noon and the donuts and coffee weren't the most filling of breakfast foods. They all decided to go to the cafeteria on the first floor except for the Mac's, who weren't really hungry. Mrs. Mac almost fell asleep a couple times; Dick figured Sam would force her out the door to go home for a nap. He felt sorry for the dude, by his calculations it wouldn't end pretty.

All five of them, including Ryan, picked up their personal belongings and made their way to the elevator. They punched the down button and waited.

After about a minute, they heard a ding and the doors yawned open. Before they had a chance to board, a teenage girl with long black hair and blue scrubs got out. She looked vaguely familiar to Dick, but he couldn't place her name. The scrubs kind of threw him, hell; maybe she was a female, Neptunian Doogie Howser, teen doctor brainiac type.

He wasn't the only one that thought that girl looked familiar, he recognized Ronnie's intent PI stare. She seemed to be coming up with some convoluted conclusion to some case that probably existed only in her mind anyway. He wondered where she kept her spy glass these days, maybe in her imaginary trench coat. He watched her track, and catalog, the girl's movements as she walked quickly down the hallway towards the ICU.

They piled into the elevator car. It was a short ride to the first floor.

Once at the cafeteria the group separated to make their food selections and pay. With all that minutiae out of the way, they reconvened at the same table, by the window, they'd sat at the day before. They might as well have it reserved.

Veronica and Logan were already sitting side by side by the time Dick came back with a chicken stir fry on his tray. He slammed it down hard; to make sure they knew he was there. Did their tunnel vision allow them to even notice outsiders?

"I'm Dick; I'll be your chaperone. Please keep your hands where I can see them at all times," he snarked as he sat down.

"Don't get comfortable, we're putting you at the kiddy table over there." Veronica rejoined, pointing to an empty table across the way. "You and Ryan can talk video games while the adults have a serious conversation."

"Cute," Dick smirked.

"Yes, she is," Logan agreed.

"Don't get me started on you, dude," Dick began.

"No worries there, I wouldn't dream of it" Wallace said, as he put his tray on the table and pulled up a chair. He'd chosen chicken parmesan, which Dick thought smelled even better than it looked. "You brought your taser, right Vee? Then we can make sure Dick doesn't get started—ever."

"Sadly, no, it's against hospital policy, something about no weapons," Veronica snapped her fingers in an _oh darn_ gesture.

"Plus the charge could interfere with life-saving equipment." Dick helpfully supplied. It sounded right, too bad Mackie wasn't there to back him up, or more likely knock his suggestion down.

Ryan was the last to join them at the table. He was the only one still in his teens, and his tray proved that he was still growing. There were two big sub sandwiches, a plate of fries, some chips, an apple, and a brownie. His appetite had definitely rebounded.

Dick smirked and then pointed at the shiny red apple. "Trying to keep doctors away?" He flinched mentally, not a good time or place to say that. Mackie always joked that he had a terminal case of _Foot in Mouth_ disease.

"That's the plan, but it's failing miserably," Ryan tossed back.

"They want you and me to sit over there at the kid's table," Dick recapped. "By _they_ I mean Veronica."

"Actually, I changed my mind," she said. "You can stay Ryan. I'll change the rules so it's by mental age, not chronological."

"Does Stanford offer a major in making up rules as you go along?"

"Not yet, they're having trouble laying the groundwork for the field studies. What about Douchebaggery? Is that on the curriculum now at Hearst? You'd graduate summa cum laude."

"Going for my Doctorate," Dick said with faux-pride. He watched with fascination as she tucked into her double cheeseburger and fries. Logan once again proved his honorary girl status by eating a salad, granted it was a big entrée salad with lots of meat, but still, it had the primary fault of being green.

Conversation rambled in fits and starts, between bites of food. Logan tried to get Veronica to open up about Stanford, but she kept bringing it back around to Mac. On one level he understood that, she was the underlying current as to why they were all here in the first place, but he also needed to focus on something that wasn't the all-in fucking dread and worry that had been stalking him for the past 24 hours. He had to admit, Ronnie-sparring was a decent distraction. He wouldn't give her kudos for that though. She didn't need more encouraging, not that Logan got that effing-memo. He never would.

Maybe Wallace got tired of Dick and Veronica sniping, or maybe he was feeling conversationally left out, whatever his motive, he started in on a story about a project Mac had assisted him with the previous semester, and how pissy she got at the grade he ended up with.

"The next day, I went to class, the prof handed back the report part of the assignment and magically my C+ had morphed into an A- overnight."

They all laughed.

"How did Mac get roped into that in the first place?" Veronica inquired.

"I asked her," Wallace said, simply. "We're friends."

She seemed confused.

"I told you that. We hang out together and everything," Wallace continued. "I always liked Mac, you know that, we got to be buddies through you, but then our link moved, and instead of going separate ways, we actually started hanging out more. She's a great person to have on your side."

"The world didn't stop just because you left," Logan added. His tone was soft, gentle, despite the potential for harshness those words held. "We all moved on and became friends, real friends."

"Even Dick?"

"Especially Dick," Logan started to say.

"I guess I didn't think Neptune would be the exact same way I left it, but I don't know, it seems  
like everything changes."

"It does, Ronnie," Dick said. "Is that so bad?"

"Yes. No. Maybe? Can I get back to you?" Veronica said. Then, she was quiet for a couple of long moments. "Depends on the changes, I guess. Look, I, I'll be here for a few days, maybe longer. It depends, on…" She paused and swallowed hard, "yeah, depends on a couple of points."

No one needed a memo to get what she meant there.

Since everyone was done with the business eating, and only crumbs were being pushed around their plates at that point, the group set to work clearing off the table and throwing their garbage out. They made the now very familiar trek back to the elevators. It was starting to be a regular routine, and not of the good variety, either.

With almost equal parts dread and hope, he wondered if the results of Mac's latest batch of tests were back yet. He'd spent the parts of lunch that he wasn't bickering with Veronica trying to push all thoughts of Mackie being poked, prodded and generally tortured with the intent of curing her out of his head. It was mostly an exercise in futility.

They had just stepped out of the elevator onto the drab, utilitarian hallway of the 3rd floor when Dick happened to look over towards the ICU door. He had been thinking of Mac. _Shocker_!

Mrs. Mac was conferring, outside the double doors of the unit, with a man in a white coat, the doctor he assumed, a woman Dick recognized as the nurse and the same teen girl he'd seen earlier that day.

He was a little surprised when Mrs. Mac spotted them and waved them over. He assumed it was mainly Ryan she was summoning. However, she didn't seem to care when the entire group went over.

She gave the doctor a brief bio of the newcomers—friends and younger brother of Cindy. Short, to the point.

His status update was not nearly as brief. Bottom line was the improvement her scans showed was minimal, but it didn't mean things were hopeless. The doctor was very quick to point out there was still a lot of things going for Cindy.

Dick remembered one of his brainless, bimbo, trophy stepmom's used to yammer on about positive thinking and visualization, new-agey shit like that. He put less than zero faith in it, but in case there was something to it after all, he pictured her big, swollen brain shrinking.

The doctor spoke another couple of minutes recapping the test and explaining other options. Finally he excused himself, leaving just Mrs. Mac, the nurse and the teen Doogie Howser.

He half listened as the nurse, Tara, mentioned in passing that she was permanently assigned to Mac as long as was necessary, at least for 2nd shift. Mrs. Mac seemed to like having one main nurse who was with Mac as long as needed.

"Well, Tara, Lauren, thank you for staying with me while I talked to Dr. Pence again. It helps having people around who know what's going on."

The girl who Mrs. Mac called Lauren spoke first. "I'm just a volunteer; I don't know anything about the procedures. I'm happy to join you though." She laughed gently.

It was then he realized why she looked familiar—she was Lauren Sinclair, Madison's younger sister. She was older looking than the last time he'd seen her. Go figure! Dick had always been surprised by how different the Sinclair sisters were, in looks and personality—night and day shit, literally Lauren always had been the anti-bitch of the pair.

After one last round of 'thank you', the group headed back to the waiting room and those hard-ass chairs that still carried their butt impressions.

–**_TBC…_**

**_***********Reviews are always appreciated! Thank you for reading. Another Mac chapter is next...***************_**


	12. Chapter 12--Islands

**_A/N: Back in 2004 now, Mac's POV. Thank you so much for all the follows, favorites & of course reviews! I appreciate you taking the time to continue to read this twisty AU version of what could have been for Mac and MaDi, also, I love hearing all your thoughts & opinions. Reviews really do keep me motivated, just sayin'! Huge thanks to my diligent & patient beta-cainc3! Enjoy!_**

**_Obligatory Disclaimer: It's probably obvious by now, but I still don't own a THING in the VM universe. A big thank you to Rob Thomas & the gang for letting me play in it though. I promise to return all characters in their original, pristine condition-eventually! _**

**_Chapter 12—Islands_**

**Captain's Log star date 58372.7**

Mac woke up on the Saturday after Thanksgiving heavy with the awareness she was now three weeks into this strange, new dimension that was a fun house mirror version of her old life—distorted and backwards.

Three weeks was almost a month, and she had no clue how long she would continue to live in this limbo land.

At least she'd survived her first Sinclair holiday—barely—but still, she chalked that down to a win!

It probably would have been a good day if her mom had not invited Dick Casablancas. Actually, that wasn't a fair statement. There was a part of her that was glad he was there with her, though of course he was ignorant of the circumstances of her _new _normal but, still, "uncomplicated" Dick was a good person to be around when your life was a study in complexity. He made her laugh, in this dimension, and her "real" one, too.

No, things only turned to shit when he darkened the Sinclair doorstep with Cassidy in tow. She'd cried herself to sleep that night, reliving the nightmarish events of graduation night, which was the last night Cass was alive. Seeing him very much alive and talking to her baby sister, in this reality, made her stomach churn with nausea and fear. She had to fight the urge to drop Lauren in a decontamination shower—on second thought, make that a decon bath-to keep him from infecting her innocent sister, like his madness had done to her.

The internal war being waged deep inside was the anger and pain from what he did to her, and Veronica, vs. her desire for a _re-do_, a new chance to save her classmates. She was no closer to deciding on a course of action. She didn't even know if anything she did in this life would ripple its way into her original dimension. Maybe the whole idea that she could affect change was just cosmic bullshit, the whole universe gut laughing over her stupidity.

It probably was.

The question remained, however, did she try anyway?

If she decided to go for it, the bitch of it was she needed to plough through the mental scars Cassidy left her and make an effort to connect with him in this time period. A friend, if there was one thing that lost boy needed, it was a friend.

Reluctantly, Mac extracted herself from the warm nest of blankets. Yesterday she'd been able to beg off the traditional post-Thanksgiving shopping binge known as Black Friday by claiming a migraine, she wouldn't be able to lay low today though, she knew. No, that would've earned her a one-way pass back to Dr. Stephenson.

She threw on a pair of designer jeans from the back of the massive closet, where she'd thrown them the night before, and then grabbed a purple tee shirt from one of the built in shelves. There was a maelstrom of clothes strewn everywhere, as was common the day before Lucille's self-proclaimed laundry day.

Next stop was the bathroom. She ran the brush through her long hair, giving it a few half-hearted licks. It was still jolting to look in the mirror and see the same long hair she'd had back in her first high school days. It was time to reapply some purple streaks, too, after Ellen had made her wash out the temporary dye before the big Thanksgiving feast. It was a shift from what she was used to, the part time freedom of self-expression allowed in the Sinclair household. Natalie, on the other hand, never seemed to object to her rotational rainbow of colored streaks that defined her high school self.

Fully dressed, Mac headed downstairs.

She followed the sound of the TV and found Lauren on the couch in the family room eating a bowl of cereal while watching Scooby Doo.

"Busted," she murmured into her sister's ear as she came up behind her and gently tapped her shoulder. Lauren jumped and a droplet of milk splashed up and landed on her fuzzy pajamas.

"Madi!" her tone indignant. "You almost got me grounded until prom."

"Sorry," Mac said, however the laughter in her tone was at odds with her words. She came around to the front of the couch and eased herself down, next to her sister. This time no milk droplets plotted an escape.

Lauren's glare deepened.

"Grounded until prom? I wasn't aware they had a seventh grade prom," Mac continued.

"No, I meant high school prom. Spilling anything on this couch is a serious crime," she explained.

"If you're so afraid of the wrath of mom, why do I keep finding you violating the rule?"

"One, it's stupid, two, I'm not afraid per se, I just would rather escape spending my glory days in this jailhouse."

"Glory days? You're eleven."

"Almost twelve."

"Whatever," Mac said dismissively. "Where is mom?"

"Returning half the things she bought yesterday at all those sales. My feet still hurt, by the way." Lauren had a slight whine in her voice. She propped her feet up on the coffee table in front of her to really sell it.

"You could have stayed home with me," Mac reminded her.

"Now you tell me," she grumped. "No, I thought you'd be going so I promised to go as well, then you backed out and I didn't want to upset mom by doing that, too."

She closed her eyes at that, hoping to block the inevitable guilt from coming to the surface. That plan utterly failed.

"I have a couple errands to run," Mac said, a few minutes later. "How about I make my defection up to you by taking you with me?"

"How does that make anything up to me?" Lauren enquired. "Besides, my feet hurt, remember."

"I'll buy you a hot chocolate at Java," Mac replied to the second comment, ignoring the first statement.

"Sold," Lauren said. She looked happy at the prospect of spending time with her older sister despite the initial token protest.

They got rid of all evidence of Lauren's breakfast rebellion. As they prepared to leave, Mac grabbed a handful of leftover cinna-melt cookies and poured some coffee into a to-go cup.

Taking her now battle-scarred car, they headed towards downtown Neptune.

Mac found a space in front of _Comp-U-Stop_, and locked up, and then she and Lauren headed in.

The door chimed their arrival.

"Hi Dave," Mac automatically greeted the lanky, bespectacled guy of indeterminate age working behind the register.

He smiled at her, but she could tell he had no clue who she was. She obviously wasn't a regular here like she was in her Mac-life.

_Damnit_, she mentally berated herself, habit got her every time. She needed to make some kind of cheat sheet to keep track of who she knew in what existence, and for those overlapping cases, what role she played in each life. As surreal as her life was these days, it was still a comfort to collide both of her lives together whenever possible.

Lauren wandered over to the book wall, while Mac started looking at the storage devices and expansion packs.

"Let me know if I can help you find something," Dave said a couple minutes later. He didn't leave his perch behind the counter. Mac knew he wasn't being unfriendly; he was just really shy around people he didn't know. It was a surreal kind of realization because, in her Mac life, they got along great despite his contempt for all things Apple. She decided to have a little fun with that insider piece of knowledge.

"Is this it? You don't have any more wireless cards, or dongles, specifically for Mac's? Maybe I should go to _Computer Mart_." Mac replied, and then bit her lip to keep from laughing. She didn't dare turn around and look at him. She could just picture him trying, and failing, to keep himself from rolling his eyes.

The truth was, even with _Comp-U-Stop's_ bare bones selection of Apple MacIntosh ("Mac") accessories, she much preferred this little ramshackle mom-pop type of computer store to the big box, sterile, mass-appeal of Computer Mart. Sam had instilled in her an appreciation for independent stores and restaurants. It had taken years before Mac realized that his support for local business was driven primarily by his own short lived experience as a small business owner. He'd started, and sub-sequentially lost, _Fun Time Motors_ when Mac was very young. It was still a big part of his life, since after losing the company; the new owners still retained him as a salesman.

"That's a great idea, if you enjoy paying a 75% mark up, and _maybe_ you'll get one additional brand to choose from, also with high mark ups," Dave said. "If you have money to burn, then I highly recommend Computer Mart." He didn't hide his distaste or his sarcasm—a language Mac both spoke and respected.

She smirked, but not in his sightline. She knew him well-enough to know he was getting pissed yet trying hard not show she'd hit his "hot button" issue. After all, pissing off customers wasn't a good business practice.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lauren still looking in the books section; she had a book in each hand and was studying them both carefully like she couldn't decide which one to select.

Mac came up behind her to take a peek at the titles she was considering. One was a detailed history of computers, and the other was basically a hacking for Dummies type book.

"You can't go wrong with either book," Mac said.

"I was just going to say the opposite—I can't go right with either title," Lauren turned around, saying it with a straight face. Mac assumed she had to be joking though; they were both wonderful additions to any library.

Ignoring that last line, Mac went back to choosing what she needed to keep her network of computers running at optimum speed. She paid for her purchases and made nice with Dave again. It seemed to be a successful mission based on the friendly ribbing he gave her about the OS-X operating system as he took her money. Mac countered by defending its simplicity.

With a better wireless card and more RAM checked off her to do list, Mac and Lauren left the _Comp-U-Stop_. Instead of going to the car, they turned left and headed toward _Java the Hut_. It was simpler to walk the two blocks than to drive and then find another parking spot.

It was a beautiful morning, the sun was shining brightly, and despite being late November it was shaping up to be a warm day.

Mac looked over at her sister, walking beside her through the streets of downtown Neptune. Being a Saturday, and a holiday weekend to boot, the streets were not exactly bustling. She watched as Lauren peeked curiously into the store fronts as they passed.

A smile pushed to the surface as she remembered all the fantasies she'd had through the years of just spending time with Lauren. The day dreams were never elaborate, just little snippets of day-to-day life, only now she was living it, instead of just dreaming about it. It was a _pinch me_ kind of moment for Mac.

They paused at the stop sign and turned right onto Main Street.

Mac held the door open and followed Lauren inside Java the Hut. The popular Neptune coffee shop held a lot of caffeinated memories for her. Back in high school Veronica had worked there on nights and weekends. It had become habit for Mac to visit her during her shift. It was during one of those visits that she'd first discovered soy chai lattes, which were still to this day her drink-of-choice.

They joined the short line of people waiting for their own coffee fix-jittery, fidgety people.

"Hot chocolate?" Mac enquired.

"That's my go-to," Lauren said.

"You have a go-to beverage choice?" Mac couldn't leave the skepticism out of her voice.

"Yep," Lauren affirmed, but didn't volunteer any more info than that.

However, when it was their turn Mac ordered a Venti soy chai latte for herself and had been just about ready to get Lauren's hot chocolate when she changed it last minute to another soy chai latte.

"What happened to your go-to drink?" Mac asked in a teasing voice as they stood off to the side while the barista made their drinks.

"Just broadening my beverage choices, I guess. Mom says it's good to try new things, plus if you like it, I'm sure I will. What is it, some frou-frou coffee thing, right?"

Mac laughed and ruffled her sister's hair. "You're funny. It's spiced tea and milk, no coffee."

Lauren made a face at the description of the thing she was about to drink, and Mac's laugh deepened.

"Is it too late to change my…" she started to ask, when the counter guy announced Mac's name and put both drinks down.

"Yes, it's too late," Mac said, unnecessarily at that point. She grabbed both cups and led them to an available table by the window. "Just try it. If you don't like it, I'll finish yours and buy you a hot chocolate."

They sat down across from each other.

"Okay," Lauren conceded, pinching her nose with one hand and picking her cup up with her other hand. Tentatively she put the cup to her lips. She blew on it, and then took a small sip. She made a face at first, then tried another sip, and kept on drinking it.

"So?"

"It's alright."

"Just alright?"

"Yup."

Evidently, being a typical 'tweener', Lauren wasn't going to be lavish in her praise of chai Lattes, but the way she kept drinking it rendered that unnecessary anyway. Her actions did the talking for her.

Mac started asking Lauren about her classes, her friends, and what she wanted to be when she grew up. She was surprised to learn that her favorite teacher from Elementary school, Mrs. Winters, was currently a Science teacher in the Junior High, and was Lauren's favorite teacher, too. Mac also heard a lot about Brittany, a girl who had recently moved to Neptune from Ohio. As for dreams and ambitions, Lauren confessed she wanted to be a doctor or maybe a surgeon and 'cut people open and stuff.'

As she sipped her chai latte and listened to the excitement in Lauren's voice as she outlined her day by day activities, Mac studied her, trying to memorize every detail and nuance as though she could burn it to her memory.

It was Technicolor, it was real, and she wasn't ready for their 'sister bonding' day to end.

Lauren had moved on to a long story that explained how Brittany earned her newly-appointed BFF status, something to do with locating Pip, the missing class hamster. Mac wasn't clear on all the details, but Brittany sounded a little like a pint-sized Veronica with fewer trust issues. She wondered if Lauren would end up being the Watson to Brittany's Sherlock. History did have a lot of funny habits.

Just then, Mac's focus was diverted for a second by the ping of an incoming text. She was going to ignore it, but Lauren insisted she check. So at her sister's urging, she rifled through her small _Coach_ clutch bag until she found her phone buried in the bottom. She flicked through the menu until she came to the message envelope. She read it and felt her face heat up, and evidently she smiled, too.

**_Dick: What color undies are you wearing?_**

As Lauren teased her about her grin and then started making kissing noises, Mac ignored her and sent a reply back to Dick's text.

**_Madi: I'm wearing a new kind of underwear, they're invisible. No lines._**

Before she could even finish calculating how long it would take Dick to text her back, it pinged again.

**_Dick: Be right there_**.

She smiled again, probably an even bigger one this time. Of course, that wasn't possible, Dick was in Tahiti, or Bora-Bora ,or Turks and Caicos, some tropical rich-person Mecca, surfing and drinking Tequila shots, and probably getting even tanner than before.

**_Madi: I'm not at home_**.

He was quick with the trigger finger then, too.

**_Dick: Hot date?_**

**_Madi: Yup—a hot date with three hot guys. Jealous?_**

There was a longer pause between messages; Lauren continued to make kissy noises.

"So, what about you?" Mac asked her sister. "Any boyfriends?" She tried to be covert about checking the screen for another message from Dick. She failed miserably at it based on the smirk Lauren gave her before replying.

"Boys have cooties," she laughed. It was a deep throaty sound and was quickly becoming one of Mac's favorites. Then it died out, and her tone got serious. "There is one boy, he's okay. His name is Kyle. I think Brittany likes him though. I don't know."

"Did she tell you that?" Mac asked. She looked down at her phone, yet again, still nothing.

"Well, no," Lauren admitted, "but she keeps changing the subject when I try to talk about him."

"Ask her. You don't want to violate the friend code, but maybe you guys can come to an agreement if you talk about it. You don't want to pass up any chances with Kyle, either."

"How do you know?"

"I'm wise beyond my years," Mac replied, not biting back an ironic smile. The truth was oozing itself around that sentence.

Just then another ping emanated from her phone. Mac retrieved it and frowned slightly.

"Not Dick," Lauren stated rather than asked.

"Nope," Mac affirmed, but then one side of her lips quirked up into a half-smile as she read the message.

**_Jackson: Just say no to drugs evidently applies to the sanctity of my own room, too. Moms suck._**

She wrote back:

**_Madi: You don't want to compare mom issues with me. What the hell did you do?_**

**_Jackson: I just smoked up one time. I think the maid is out to get me, tattling on me. Mom was majorly mad. It's my fucking room. Let's just say I won't be going to your party, or you know, see the light of day in years._**

**_Madi: What?! Party?! I'm not having a party. _**

Her birthday was coming up in a few weeks, but no one had mentioned anything to her about a party. She remembered from her original high school days the infamous Sinclair bacchanalias to celebrate the birth of the 'Bitch Queen Bee' herself. She'd even crashed one that first year after learning the truth. Was that what Jackson was referring to? Oh hell no! She'd have to put the kibosh on that plan.

**_Jackson: Um, nothing. Never mind. My mistake. But the punishment doesn't fit my crime. I'll never see life on the outside again._**

Mac smiled at his backpedaling.

**_Madi: Aw poor baby, stuck in your room with only your gaming system and computers for company. What inhumane imprisonment. _**

Her sarcasm was lost in the text, however.

**_Jackson: I know, right? What I need is leverage._**

**_Madi: Leverage? Like blackmail?_**

**_Jackson: Yes, leverage, not blackmail though, such an ugly term. _**

**_Madi: I may know someone that can help you. We'll talk in class Monday. I've got to go now._**

**_Jackson: Thanks, Mad, you're a lifesaver. Bye._**

**_Madi: No prob! Over & out…_**

"Sorry L," Mac said as she put her phone back into her clutch. As she did that, she realized she'd never heard back from Dick. He must have gotten distracted, a common state for him, she reminded herself wryly.

"I don't mind. We haven't spent time like this in years, you're always so busy," Lauren said. She didn't look bothered by that, just resigned.

Mac felt guilty in a way that didn't make sense. She was only borrowing this life for the short-term, but she felt protective of this girl sitting across from her. She'd felt that way since the night she had crashed Madison's party.

The thought of having her own fete was _Twilight Zone_ weird. Of course, that was a zone she'd been dwelling in for month now anyway, The thought of being the Sinclair in question for the annual "Fall rite of passage," Madison Sinclair's birthday party didn't exactly make her feel like doing a happy dance. She suspected Dick was a big part of the plans to keep that tradition alive this year. She'd have to work on that...

After finishing the remains of their drinks, Mac and Lauren threw out their trash and headed back to the car a block and a half away.

It wasn't until later that night that Mac heard back from Dick. She'd just got done having dinner and was up in her room to grab her Physics book when habit had her checking her phone.

She picked it up from its usual perching place by her bedside table and scrolled through the menu.

There was one missed message:

**_Dick: Sorry babe, got Beavered. Not as much fun as it sounds. He's off the ledge about something. Betina got him to shut the fuck up somehow. Aw, family. See ya Monday. No weaseling out of our date Friday—I own your cute ass fair square. Over & Out…_**

Mac fired off a quick reply even though it had been sent to her over an hour prior. She was a little more concerned than she cared to admit about his cryptic message, but she tamped it down.

**_Madi: Nothing fair or square about that bet, and you know it Casablancas. Don't overdose on family time. See your scrawny ass on Monday. Over & out…_**

***************Monday Morning, Neptune High********************

Mac found a parking spot in the '09'er lot—B—and slid Lucille's Honda into a space near the front. The Caddy was going to the shop to get the dent fixed.

She had just walked through the back entrance of Neptune High when Jackson accosted her.

"Dude, you need to help me. Who is this person you said you knew that could give me leverage on the 'rents?"

"Okay, first, I'm a dudette, not a dude," Mac corrected, smiling. "Second, my friend, Veronica works for her dad, he's a PI. They have access to data bases it would take me forever to, um, access." She always tried to be careful to whom she revealed the extent of her computer skills to, especially in this uncertain existence.

"Veronica, as in Veronica Mars?"

"That would the Veronica in question, yes." Mac said dryly.

"Since when did the two of you become friends?"

"Recently, but it's like we've always been friends. Look, join us at lunch and I'll make the introductions."

"Thanks, Mad. I owe you one."

"You owe me several, Jackson, and I will collect," Mac replied, lightly punching him on the arm.

After saying their good-byes, they went in opposite directions to their respective homerooms.

Dick was already there, half-asleep at his desk. He seemed to wake up a little when he saw Mac enter though.

"Too much partying?" Mac inquired as she flopped down at the desk beside him.

"Too much family time, apparently I OD'ed on it after all," Dick replied, sitting up.

The bell rang just then and Mrs. Murphy got the school day underway.

At lunch, Jackson found Mac sitting with Veronica and Wallace at their usual table out in the quad. He plopped down next to Mac.

"So, I hear you can dig up dirt on parents," he said to Veronica, getting down to business. He reached into his lunch bag and retrieved a turkey wrap out of it and took a big bite.

"What, no greetings and salutations?" Mac teased. She pushed the remains of her salad away, now full. They'd been sitting there eating and talking for about fifteen minutes before Jackson had joined them.

"Top of the morning to you all," Jackson backtracked, as soon as he finished swallowing the bite of his sandwich. "Now, can you help me Mars?"

"It's afternoon, actually."

"Top of the afternoon to you all," Jackson said. "Now, can you help?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Find leverage on my parents. They're very strict. I was smoking up in my room over break and they grounded me for two months."

"At least you're still walking," Wallace added. "Apparently you haven't spent time in my mom's house."

Jackson ignored that. "I can pay."

Veronica perked up at that. "Suddenly my schedule has cracked wide open. Are you sure you can handle what I uncover?"

"Just find me some proof that they aren't as perfect as they act like. I can handle the truth," Jackson said confidently. He continued to work on his sandwich as they worked out the terms of the arrangement.

Veronica asked Jackson to meet her in her _office_—first floor girl's bathroom—the following day before lunch. Then he got up to throw out his garbage before joining Dick's table for the rest of the lunch hour.

Mac brought up her Thanksgiving dinner from hell, leaving out the bigger bullet points of her meal of course. They all compared and contrasted their weekend until the bell rang.

Wallace went off in one direction, while Veronica and Mac walked off in the opposite one.

"You know, you could make a lot of money selling parental secrets," Mac suggested. "Charge double the fee that Jackson is paying."

"That's the _friend of a friend rate_, not everyone qualifies for that one anyway," Veronica said.

"I could buy the domain name; we can call it 'Dirt on Parents' or something more clever than that. We wouldn't have any overhead that way." Veronica shot her down once, however, maybe in this life they could make a go of it.

"Tempting, but I'm not sure I have enough time for school, helping dad, and everything else in my life as it is. I don't think I could handle anything more."

"Oh, yeah, I see that." Mac couldn't keep the disappointment from bleeding through though. Nope, no lucrative side business in this dimension either. Also, she'd hoped Veronica would look into the settlement terms she'd found in her bio dad's drawer the other day. She'd finally carved out some more snooping time the previous day, but had discovered the paperwork had been relocated and there hadn't been enough to time to scout out other locations.

"You okay? Is there something on your mind?" Veronica asked.

She always could read Mac perfectly, there never had been hiding things from her, why should things in this life be any different?

"Well, there's just one thing," Mac began. She paused for a moment, maybe some secrets followed her life to life, dimension to dimension.

"What?"

Mac took a deep breath. "Um, I found something weird the other day in one of my dad's desk drawers, a really big settlement, but I couldn't find the rest of the paperwork. I was hoping, maybe, you could look into it?"

"Sure. Text me your details tonight and I'll look it up when I'm working Jackson's case, too."

"Thank you." Mac suddenly felt relieved. "I can pay you."

"No, keep your money; consider it a referral bonus for sending Jackson my way."

"Thanks pal."

They came to a fork in the hallway, and parted. Mac headed to her math class, hoping she made the right decision. If there's one thing she'd learned from her Mac life, it was that some secrets could never be unlearned.

**_TBC…_**

**_***There will be lots of stuff to cover in the next chapter! Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks for reading***_**


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